


Exile’s Return I

by doberman211



Series: Exile's Return [5]
Category: Homeworld (Relic Entertainment Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberman211/pseuds/doberman211
Summary: The Guidestone set them on the path. Their first jump pushed them onwards. An ancient enemy forgotten to history attempts to stop them. The Mothership and its crew are the last hope for the Kushan race. This is their story. This is the Exile's Return.
Series: Exile's Return [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/10732
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Kharak. Even the sound of its name foretells its harsh environment. This desert world has been our home for over four thousand years. The hot sands of the great deserts are all our people know or have known for generations upon generations. The polar regions beyond the seas harbor the only habitable land on this planet. Equatorial temperatures can rise above the boiling point of water. Even the oldest of our clans remember nothing more than here. Many ancient markings indicate that we did not originate from this world, and some believe Sajuuk, our god, banished us here for our sins. Faith aside, not until recent scientific discoveries were made did we uncover the inevitable truth: we are aliens to this world.

One hundred years ago, a satellite's propulsion systems malfunctioned. Instead of scanning for orbital debris, it faced downward towards the Banded Desert discovering something in the sand. An expedition was sent. What they found was an ancient starship burred in the sands. Symbols of ancient times were written across it's plating. Markings known only to the oldest texts still preserved in the libraries of Tiir. Deep inside the relic was a power plant that sent our technological advancement centuries ahead of our time. Farther in still, a single stone that would change the course of our history forever.

On the Guidestone was carved a galactic map, and a single word more ancient than the clans themselves, Hiigara. Our home.

The word united the clans as one. A massive colony ship was designed that would take two generations to complete. It demanded new technologies, new industries, and new sacrifices. The greatest of these was made by the young neuroscientist Karan Sjet. She had herself permanently integrated into the colony ship as its living core. She is now Fleet Command.

The promise of a new home united the entire Kushan race. Everyone's mind became focused on a single question: Where do we come from? Every effort put into building the ship that would seek it out among the stars…


	2. Kharak

MARK

*Beep … beep … beep … beep…*

He woke to the sound of his alarm clock. He stirred and saw it was well into the morning. One more day, he thought. He got up and into the shower so to not fall back asleep. He had a long day ahead of him, the sendoff party.

There would be a gathering of notable people from around the globe the night before launch. Mark wasn't part of the Mothership crew, his sole purpose for boarding was to test the new fighters' systems. Being the lead pilot of his school and the son of a war hero requires him to fulfill certain social protocols. Much like attending parties like the sort planned for later in the evening. None of it interested him in the slightest.

His small house was like all the others outside the Walls, made from sandstone and clay. His furniture was minimal. A dresser for clothes, dishes enough for two, only because his girlfriend would stop by on occasion. A desk for the rest of his things. A picture of himself with his old pilot friend Jay. He grabbed his Sobani necklace from the desk and put it on. He wouldn't be back for days and decided he needed all the luck he could get.

The phone rang as he was heading to the door. "Hi, it's just me calling before you head out." It was Valerie. She was away in the South visiting family for the past week.

"Just caught me, was on my way out! So how's the trip going?" he asked.

"Not bad, I could do with less farm stench though. I wish I could see you before you go."

"I'll see you when I get back. We'll have dinner somewhere fancy. I'm sure some place would be glad to have us," he said. He wasn't the type to flaunter his fame and she was embarrassed when he got recognized in public. He would much prefer dinner at home in his small mud-hut, but he wanted to treat her every now and then.

"Well, I won't hold you up. Love you!"

"Love you too, bye."

His eyes took time to adjust to the sunlight once outside. He put on shades and glanced at the time. He had to be in Tiir within the hour for preparations. He hopped on his motorbike and took off down the dirt road towards the shining speck in the distance.

Crossing the city walls was like entering a different world. He left the dusty sandscape that was in abundance on this world and entered a fortified oasis. He removed his shades and took a deep breath of the fresh filtered air. Structures towered above in front of him, but there were parks of all kinds in between. A river flowed through the city maintained by a dam on the farthest wall from him connecting to the northern sea to the other side.

Tiir was a monument to the perseverance of the Kushan. Refusing to allow their dying world to drag them to extinction, a walled city like only a few others allowed a climate to be controlled just enough to keep life flourishing while keeping the desert out. Tiir. The capital of Kharak. The pinnacle of technological advancement and the home of the Daiamid council, the governing body that has kept the clans in relative peace since the end of those centuries' old wars whose aftermath is still felt with the Gaalsien extremists.

His bike, being the filthy dirt driver that it is, was put in storage by the wall. He paid for the week, and took the next bus into town only ten minutes after. The spaceport lie off to the east, downtown was ahead of him. To the west he saw a flock of gulls land on the river where gardeners kept up a decorative appearance on the shoreline. Poppies were in bloom and cast a red over most of the far shore.

Once within the skyline, he took notice of the tallest structures above him that had bridges between them. He had a hotel booked on an overhang and was trying to imagine the view. Whichever Naabal had thought up the architecture of these must have been either genius or insane. Most often, though, both end up being the case.

He hoped the ride would not be much longer. He had a few important meetings to attend and afterward would be forced to make appearance at a dinner of some sort. He didn't make the plans, he only kept himself a public figure for his father's sake. He had very little interest in aristocratic matters.

He sat alone at a table after the dinner party had ended. He grew tired of repeating himself every half hour to whichever new group of people happened to strike up a conversation. He saw his father, but the man was far too busy and bombarded with guests to talk. The man was a legend, after all. Best fighter pilot to ever live, they said. His greying beard was a signal to the rest that the next generation of heroes would come, and who do they lay eyes on other than he himself? Mark Soban, the seventeen-year-old son of Markus the Great, blood heir to Soban the Red as has been revealed since his father's infancy. The Soban place little importance to lineage, but other kiith do and naturally fame comes along with it.

As he downed another glass of probably expensive wine, a girl dressed in grey approached him. "The shadow of the legend drinks alone at the edge of the gathering," she said taking a seat with him.

"Well, you obviously know who I am, what's your name?"

"Isabella Manaan, also partaking in testing the new space fighters up there," she said pointing through the glass roof.

She twirled her dark brown hair as she recounted her own tales of danger in the cockpit. He listened intently. He wondered how old she was, probably no more than fifteen. They talked about how uneventful these parties were, how much neither of the two wished to be there.

"Personally, my favourite of your tales is crossing the desert alone at age twelve, should those rumours be true, that is." Her stare was more of a question than a statement, and having recounted the tale so many times before, it came naturally to him, as if rehearsed.

"True enough, yes. Honestly, I have no way of knowing how long I was out there. One day I was escaping rail robbers and the next I'm hopping from oasis to oasis unsure if I'll see another sunset." The experience wasn't a memory he enjoyed revisiting, but she was enjoying him telling her of it.

"As a nomad of the Manaan, you have my respect as a sand rat of highest endurance," she joked. He laughed with her to that. They kept conversation going for enough time that the few remaining guests were reduced to half.

"Wanna know a secret?" he said after another sip from his glass, "I really hate feeling special."

"Well, Mark, don't think I'll shower you in glory. I'll have to see you in action first." She got up and walked away, but turned and winked.

"I have a girlfriend!" he half-shouted back to her. He could tell she was laughing.

He was refilling his glass at another table, having finished off the bottle at the last. His tolerance was as legendary as his father's. A group approached him, he smiled back. "And who might you fine gentlemen be?" he asked.

"Son, please meet Huur Sjet," his father said. He barely noticed he was among them.

"It's not everyday I get to meet one of the Sas," he said to a handshake.

"Oh, it is my pleasure, son. I have heard a great deal about you and your heroic survival a couple years ago alone on that island." He remembered that one all too well also.

"Your daughter, is she already onboard?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, they have been doing calibrations for months. Everything must be perfect, after all."

"I knew her, I believe. Before my trek up north, I mean. You had a summer home in the South."

"Why, yes! Small world we live in, eh?"

"It's about to get a whole lot bigger," his father cut in. He put his arm around Mark's shoulders and they walked away pretending to get caught up with each other. "Phew!" he said as the door closed behind them. "I'm getting way to old for this shit, eh kid?" he laughed.

"Yeah, no shit, it shows in your beard."

"Hey, watch it, boy. This beard has a grey hair for every stressed out moment I've survived."

"Then you're one hell of a trooper." He enjoyed the time he got to spend with his father. They didn't talk nearly as much as he'd like.

"Saw you with the caravan leader's daughter earlier, she's a hell of a pilot too!"

"Yeah, glad to know someone won't treat me as if my blood had gold in it up there." They laughed to that.

"She's cute, too!"

"She's like fifteen. Valerie is still my girl, you know."

"Oh, she's not bad either! Good job, my boy!"

"You're wasted, old man." They drank in a comfortable silence walking the streets headed to the hotel they were booked in. "Dad?" he said.

"Yeah?"

He pulled out his necklace to show him, "Still got it."

"That thing's so old," he said smiling. "She picked it out, you know." He knew. A somber thought; silence returned between them. They never talked about his mother, her death was something he never truly recovered from.

He walked with him up to his room after a couple elevator rides to the overhang hotel. His father grabbed him and pulled him in n embrace. "You have no idea how proud of you I am, son." He couldn't tell how drunk he was at that point, but it scarcely mattered. "Don't let yourself believe my shadow is too far cast to overcome. You'll eclipse me, and I'll be happy to see it happen."

"Go to bed, dad." He couldn't think of how else to reply. He sent him on his way. Mark's room was a level above his, so he continued to walk through the halls peering out the long window looking out at the city lights below, and could feintly see the outline of Scaffold in orbit.

He thought back to his trip into the city and wondered how long it would be until Kharak could no longer sustain itself, how long before even the Majiirian would dry up and the southern farms produced no crops. Wherever this Hiigara was, he hoped the colonists could find it. He was not ready yet to leave behind the life he had, but some day all would have to leave this world.

He noticed he had been standing in front of his room's door. Once he hit the mattress, he didn't move until morning.


	3. Scaffold

ERIC

The young Gaalsien was lying down anxious and sweating having woken himself from a dream. He had been aboard Scaffold for two weeks now, having come up on the fifth transport. The station had been alive and busy around the clock in this time to prepare the colony ship for launch. He had fairly little contact with anyone in this time, preferring a solitary lifestyle and knowing from experience that trusting others often ends him up worse off than where he started. His lineage played a part in that.

Regardless of his circumstances, he knew being from the clan he was would make him enemies whether he had any relation to the terrorist factions or not, and to his dismay, he did in fact formerly have ties with them as a child. At the time he didn't know much about the world. Now, he holds on to that guilt. He seldom speaks of his past for that reason, the other being that nobody has gotten close enough to ask.

He decided there was no place for him on Kharak. His family had been killed many years ago in a bombing, he was barely scraping by on what work would accept him, and he had no connections left to his kiith, or any other for that matter. He took up a janitorial position on the Mothership hoping he could make a living elsewhere. He was lucky to have been given the position, only having it because of a minority quota. Even then, it was necessary to destroy all evidence of his past, which was not hard because of bad record keeping within the Gaalsien.

He stood up and prepared to pack his belongings. Owning very little, and most of what he did he would be willing to part with anyway, there was not much to take with him. All he really wanted to keep were the books and his notes on them. He thought of himself as a scholar of sorts though never having the privilege of actually being one due to his disposition and fascinated himself with Kushan history. He'd collected many historical works in the past few years and kept them for reference. Most originating from his kiith being the oldest clan known, widely believed to have lived in the original First City. Millennia took a toll on his people.

He stepped out the door of his small apartment once finished packing. Others doing the same crowded the halls ahead and behind. Men and women of all clans. Children of the crew were suspended in cryogenic sleep explaining the lack of anyone younger than fifteen or so. Scaffold housed the entire crew of the Mothership ahead of its launch, for some this orbital station has been their home for decades. Fifty thousand people were the sum total of the colony ship's crew. All of which have either been living in Scaffold or the Mothership itself. A veritable city in space: the Last City.

He blended in with this crowd despite his background. The Gaalsien and Manaan are identical in appearance, and as their clan would suggest, many nomads were part of this expedition. It lessened the anxiety he usually felt when in a crowd, though he still kept his gaze low as he walked along.

The hall he walked into next had a long window overlooking the planet, but he was too lost in thought to pay it any mind. That is, until he walked into someone who had been stopped staring out.

"I apologize, I should be moving not standing around looking dumb, haha." He was a cheerful character of northern accent.

"Nah it's fine, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Then I guess we're both to blame, so there's nothing too it. I'm Jasiid Nabaal, by the way, call me Jay," he said continuing on alongside him. There was a certain aspect of this character that welcomed trust. Perhaps it was his smile or his attitude, either way he seemed to be a good person.

"Eric Gaalsien," he said. He watched for what his reaction would be like, expecting some form of disrespectful remark but none came out of this man.

"It's okay, since you're wondering. I don't care what clan you're from. I'm here for a new beginning, why shouldn't everyone have that chance?" He agreed. "Besides," he said looking out, "all the conflict and hatred down there doesn't seem to matter when seeing how beautiful it actually looks from out here."

He parted ways with his new companion once onboard the colony ship. Jay being a corvette pilot had to attend a debriefing, while he had to find out where his new room would be. The boarding trams left him inside the hangar deck which was far brighter than he preferred. The nearest elevator would take him up to the pilot lobby and from there he knew where to walk. The further away from the hangar he got, the less crowded it was around him.

Coming up on his door, he entered the code he was given and it slid into the wall revealing the small quarters he would be spending most of the next year within. It was dark even with the lights on; he had no problem with this. he put his suitcase and bag down and lay on his bed already provided with a mattress, a pillow, and sheets.

"So this is the view now," he said to himself looking at the ceiling. Grey metal without much texture to it. No window at all on the walls. There was a desk in the corner beside his bed with a chair and power connections for a computer. There was another door on the opposite wall that led to a shared bathroom between him and his neighbour. It was still larger than the one he had on Scaffold. He had no complaints about the physical bareness of it, he spent most of his time in his mind anyway, there was not much of a loss to him other than not having a view of the outside.

He made a list of necessary appliances and headed out to buy them. He had a small amount of money put aside for that. He needed a bookshelf above all else, considering most of his suitcase was exactly that. He also needed new clothes and personal care items. Shaving was against his clan's culture, but all that was to change now. He would also need a few new notebooks. He had many ideas to write down, and his current ones were all full.

The last floor of the bridge section was a mini mall. He decided to look there first. He paid close attention to the varying regions of the ship as he moved closer inward. The metal became rusted and more aged, as these were the parts of the structure built first. It was hard to understand how old it was, twice his age and more. He was impressed at how sturdy it still seemed. The lighting, however, was visibly ancient. Orange and dim bands ran centred on the ceiling all the way down the halls.

He found an elevator shaft that ran upward to a terminal area with nicer floors and walls, possibly made more recently or has been refurbished. It was more crowded here than anywhere else on his walk, probably many new people figuring out where they're going the same as he was. A clerk at her desk pointed him to another elevator that would take him to where to go. He made a note to add a map to his list.

A cart assistant brought his bookshelf back with him, being too big to carry and all. It was not hard to put together, it wasn't wood, no, that was a luxury that nobody but the richest could afford, even less so out here in space. The metal structure was five shelves tall and fit all his books and had plenty of room for more.

He had little to do for the rest of the day, so he turned on his new desk lamp and opened the drawer where he put his new notebooks. He began to write. He had scribbles of ideas in his head. all the time. He sometimes wrote poems but most turned out more boring than sad. Fiction was his preference but inspiration came in short-lived bursts.

He had a half-completed novel that was a collection of short stories surrounding the first inhabitants of Khar-Toba. His fellow Gaalsien didn't take kindly to his blasphemous imaginings of times long thought of as sacred legends. He had written a dozen chapters on a boy who grew up in a war zone but abandoned it deciding it was too autobiographical. He began a new project a short time ago. A story not about him, but about everyone. Not in the past but a story to be made out in the present. There would be a long journey ahead of him, the Kushan's second great cosmic escapade, the Exile's Return. He liked the ring to it.

He heard that the fighter testing would occur later in the day. He's often dreamed of flying, but who would let him? He thought maybe that this journey would change people, including himself. He was not just a Gaalsien, but a Kushan—no, a Hiigaran. And he was proud of that fact. He hoped others would see it the same way.


	4. Fairly Local

MARK

The window overlooked the city with the walls taking up the horizon, the sun trapped in a long setting that would continue for fifty days. The great walls kept the sandstorms out and the climate within semi-controlled for comfort. There was once a time when the North flourished in life, but those times have long passed. The world was dying, and Tiir was a prime example of Kushan kind's struggle to continue on it.

Before dealing with the problems of his withering planet, however, Mark had to deal with the ache in his head. Hungover on launch day, good job. Criticizing himself wasn't going to help. He decided to grab some food. His father was nowhere to be seen when he entered the crowded lobby on the main floor which came as no surprise to him, but it would have been nice to see him before launch as he'd have no other opportunity to. He grabbed what he could and went back up to his room, carefully avoiding daylight. He wasn't ready for that this many hours before noon.

Walking down the hall, he saw the girl from the night before waiting in front of his door. "Hi!" she squealed, making him flinch almost dropping the bowl of oatmeal he had balanced on a yogurt cup. He hadn't thought this through. How was he gonna get the door open with no free hands?

She rolled her eyes and reached in his pocket for the keycard. "Morning to you too," she said grinning. He groaned a response, and she opened the door. He put breakfast on the table as she dimmed out the windows. "One of those, huh?" She massaged his head a bit before sitting down.

"You're lucky you're cute because otherwise I'd probably kick you out. Any reason you're here?" he asked.

"Meanie. Not really, I'm going alone up to Scaffold and was wondering if you'd like company. Annoying someone who's hungover is a fun bonus, though." Wincing, he picked up his spoon and continued eating.

"I guess putting up with you would be better than going alone considering I've got no idea where I should be going. You'll find I'm not as likeable a person sober as last night, though, Isabella."

"I never said you were likeable," she joked, "and you can call me Isel. It's a nickname my friends gave me, it kinda stuck. It's weird but I like it."

He tried to finish his food as they continued to banter. Her telling him he needs to shower to stop smelling like booze and get the grease and sand out of his hair, and him saying she shouldn't be creeping on people waiting around their doors for them. "Why the interest in me, anyway? You're accompanying the Mothership voyage, aren't you?"

"Yes, but Maybe I like the idea of hanging out with a semi-celebrity with no negative consequences. Some bragging rights there," she said.

"Nah, you don't seem the type," he replied. "Fangirls usually take advantage of the opportunity of being alone in a room with me to do creepy weird things."

"I'm sure you have just so many of those among the general population," she laughed.

"A man can dream, Izzy!"

"Yeah the name, that one is a no-go for me. Alright, I was hoping you'd, well, this is embarrassing but I was hoping I could get some pointers if we've got free time docked with Khar-Selim." She took a deep breath and continued. "It'll be hard to believe but I'm probably one of the senior-most pilots headed out with the voyage."

"No way, how old even are you? Like fifteen?"

"And a half! Don't laugh, that's not important," she threw back. "I'm class six, but class means nothing if you don't have the skill to back it up. I feel like I was given my position without really deserving it." She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I don't know, I hear all these stories from people who've done all these crazy stunts to deserve some kind of promotion, but here I am, haven't done anything out of program to deserve my last two."

"Not everyone does. Besides, the braggers are usually full of themselves among other things. There's no more war, even the terrorists are nowhere near as aggressive as back in my dad's day. Rank hardly means much anymore, if that makes you feel any better about it."

"I guess. I'd still like to feel like I deserve it, though. And I don't. It's all handed to you for working hard to follow the program and what then if something does happen on the journey? How many of us high rankers, if rank does in fact mean very little, will stand any better a chance than newbies?"

"I know what you mean, and sure, we can go over a few things if you want but I'm sure you're wrong about not being good enough."

"How would you know?"

"Uh, hello? My father runs the air force. He said you were alright, more of a compliment than I got from him until I pulled my class seven granting stunt." Hearing this seemed to cheer her up. "You don't get this far without deserving it. Despite what people might say, I know I'm a good pilot. There's no neotenic advantage. I've worked my ass off in the flight academy as I'm sure you have as well, maybe just don't realize it looking back. Rank might not matter but that doesn't mean you're not up to the challenge. Rank seven is essentially an informal graduation, since rarely are there any who pass that point. You're one step away and you're only fifteen. Take pride in that. The hardest part, I think, will be the microgravity. Otherwise, just do what you normally do and be creative about it when the opportunity arrises."

She looked up with a shrug and took some fruit. "I've made up my mind. You're alright." They quickly shared a smile before he stood up.

"Back to schedule, I have to shower and I don't trust you to not walk in on me, so you're gonna have to pack up and wait." He rushed her out of the room before she could argue. He thought he heard giggling from outside the door.

He stayed in the running water longer than reasonable. It was decidedly necessary considering his state of mind. The end of the conversation brought back flashes of the incident two years before. There were reasons for his avoidance of the topic. He claims to forget the time on the island when asked. He remembered all too well.

However, there was much to do still and there wasn't time to stand there reminiscing in the dripping water. Everything he had to bring fit in his backpack. She, on the other hand, had plenty more. And, as her travel guest, he was stuck with some of it. They called a cab and Mark arranged for his bike to be kept for when he got back. Isabella could not stop speaking the entire trip to the spaceport asking him questions of all sorts about his childhood, about his father, about his misadventures in flight academy; the only thing that would get her to stop speaking was when he was.

"So you knew Karan Sjet? Wow!" He decided his childhood was an easier tale to tell than much else of his life. "And these farmers, do you still talk to them?"

"No. I haven't thought about it. I guess I created a new life for myself and decided to forget the old. I sometimes regret that, but it's been so many years now and they're on the other side of the planet. There's not much to be done now."

"Well, take it from someone who's been raised by everyone but my parents, you should get in touch when you get back." This made him wonder what her story was, but they were at the entrance gates to the spaceport.

"Passports, please." Mark gave theirs, the man stamped them, and sent them on their way. He also handed them each a red and blue boarding pass. "The red one's for the transport and the blue's for the Mothership. You might wanna hurry, launch is in fifteen minutes."

"Hurry!" he shouted at Isel grabbing her bags. They were taken once we got to the ship and stored for the ride. Getting onto the ship there were ticket collectors who took their red passes. They were guided to a nearly empty room going aft. They had barely time to sit down before a voice came on the speakers.

"Transport Seven, you are clear for launch." Lights dimmed and machinery could be heard starting up.

"Talk about a close call," she said.

"This is the captain speaking. We'll be launching in thirty. Buckle up and enjoy your flight." He then laughed, and Mark wasn't sure if he should be comforted or uneasy by this last message. Isel looked calm, he decided to do the same. He hadn't been off-world before. Many had, it wasn't uncommon to take a luxury trip into orbit. Tourism helped fund the expenses for the rapid expansion of their space program the last two generations.

He listened intently to the countdown bracing himself for… he wasn't quite sure. "Here comes the fun," she said as the captain finished. What came next was a deafening roar unlike any he'd ever heard. There was a shudder and could feel himself being pushed down in his seat ever so slightly. He looked out the window. The spaceport faded into the rest of Tiir's glimmering metalwork. The city itself was then swallowed in a never-ending sea of light brown sand. They passed through a cloud or two, and after that there was only a feint blue glow separating them and the blackness of the void. Gradually, the engine's thunder grew quieter and quieter until it became little more than a background hum. He figured they were now in orbit. His necklace floated in front of his eyes before the artificial gravity kicked in. When it did, he threw his hands out in front of him. He barely made it to the trash bin. He could hear her laugh very clearly from a few rows back.

"We all have a first time," the guy in the seat closest said. "You'll get used to it by the time we reach Scaffold."

"Hope so," he replied wiping his mouth.

"The name's Johan of the Nabaal. John works too."

"Mark Soban." He took the time to look back at the planet and didn't regret it, the view was unforgettable. For millennia Kushan kind thought of Kharak as a hostile wasteland. A hell to endure for past sins. From where he stood he saw the true beauty it had to offer.

"That's another thing we all get the first time around. It's surprising, right?"

"An understatement." Long white cloud bands covered the cream coloured deserts with the blue Majiirian to the South. Northern seas were visible as well, but not as magnificent. He captured it with his phone's camera. He had to make it last.

There was a while before arrival, so John moved back to where they were sitting to get acquainted. He was a captain in rank, he would be commanding either a resource ship or any other support vessel assigned to him.

"Quite a few high-rankers on this transport," he said.

"Cromell Soban a few rows ahead, head of security aboard the colony ship," she pointed out.

"Leonard Nabaal is on an upper deck too," John added. Strike command, their boss. "A test launch procedure was conducted a few days ago on-world. Essential bridge personnel are all on their way up now."

"Why on-world? Wouldn't it make more sense to do it in the actual bridge?"

"Couldn't tell you, man. I'm sure they had their reasons.

His entire family was on the third Cryogenic tray. Mark explained that he wasn't staying for the journey. He had a life back home he cared too much to give up.

"I understand that, the only way I would go along is if every member of my family could come too."

"I thought candidates were chosen by lottery?" Isel said.

"Not all. I shouldn't be saying this, but the Sleepers are specifically chosen candidates. The best and brightest of our people, all of them younger than thirty. In fact, most of Mothership crew members are under thirty too other than the senior officers of the bridge.

"I'm not sure if I should feel upset or flattered," she replied. "Why hasn't Mark been asked, then, if they bring your loved ones along for the ride?"

"I was. I declined."


	5. Look Alive, Sunshine

ISABELLA

"We made it," John said. The station was a monstrous structure kilometres long and tall, the Manaani found it hard to take in having lived most her life in small convoys. Silhouettes of people behind glass walls could be seen from where they were. As the ship turned in for docking, she took one last glance at Kharak. Not as stunning as earlier, a sandstorm blew in from the Southeast covering most of the northern seas.

The ship came to a halt. The engines went quiet and the captain spoke. "We have docked and will be opening the airlocks. Prepare to board. Best of luck, travellers." Born a nomad, and would be one for the next year to come and then some.

They made their way off the ship onto metal floor. People rushed to get by. They made their way through the crowd to the docking arms. As it became less chaotic it was clear where they were supposed to go. They followed along easy enough with the mass of others headed to the same place.

They gave their blue tickets to the woman behind a desk and were let through to a long windowed walkway. "Whoa," she said. Looking out, they could barely make out the top or bottom of the ship we were about to board. "It's so big!"

"Mark!" someone yelled from the other end. They all looked, and he nearly tackled Mark to the floor in a hug. "It's so good to see you! It's been what, three years now?"

"Hi Jay," he managed to say, "something like that, what've you been up to lately? There's so much catching up to do!"

"Well, we'll have plenty of time on the journey. Me, I have a job up here. Salvager pilot."

"That's nice to hear," I said. "Thing is though, I'm not going. I'm only here to test out the fighters." He looked disappointed hearing that, but seemed to understand. "And aren't you packed a little light?"

"Nah, I already moved most of my things, I went back for the little that I forgot. Best not to leave anything behind. I even met someone new, a Gaalsien, in fact. Didn't think any of 'em would be coming along. We've all got our stories though, am I right? Well, it's good to see you anyway."

"Huh, odd."

"Feel free to introduce us any time," Isel said.

"Isabella Manaan, a real pain in the ass. She never shuts up."

"If I recall, your words were: it's a good thing you're cute," she added.

"Funny. Jay here is one of my oldest friends, known him since the month I got to the North."

"We went to flight academy together. I moved on to larger crafts while he stuck with fighters. We eventually drifted farther apart than I would have liked, but sometimes that's life for you." Jay was an orphan. He had no known relatives except for one on the Khar-Selim who only contacted him halfway through its ten year journey.

"And call me John. I'll be captaining a ship when it's assigned to me. We're all headed the same way, so let's walk," he said. "A busy day ahead, best not to lose any time."

"So, you're testing out the fighters too?" Jay asked her breaking the silence that came as they walked.

"Yeah, I'd like to see if space fighters are easier than jets. Some say it is but I wanna be the judge."

"I wouldn't say easier, definitely different. It's an adjustment for sure. No aerodynamics to worry about, instead there's maneuvering jets along the surfaces to make sure you're going in the right direction. Some Sjeti explained it to me once, if something is moving in a vacuum there's nothing to stop it so it'll keep going forever."

Mark said, "Makes sense, we learn all that air friction stuff at the academy, but that doesn't help much when we're not flying inside an air mass."

The two of them continued talking as they walked. She barely knew Mark and had only just then met Jay, but she could clearly see how opposite their personalities were. Mark, moody and irritable, whereas Jay appeared to be a cheery amiable person. How they managed to be apparently the best of friends didn't register to her. Then again, she considered how she herself was oddly drawn to him, mostly she found it amusing to annoy him to see how much he could tolerate, the other part of it was boredom. Though, he was staying behind and would probably never meet again, meaning there were no consequences for it anyway.

The buildup of people immediately ahead appeared to be from boarding the trams that took passengers aboard. After waiting in line with the rest for a good half hour, they were on the final leg of the boarding process. The pressurized tram moved along the rails leaving Scaffold and clearing onto a mess of rail work with the huge rectangular shape of Mothership's hangar brightly aglow from within. A short one minute ride later, they were inside the bay.

"Go figure, all that waiting for not even a minute," she said.

They were escorted to a lobby area where they could relax for a bit. "Just in time too, launch is in ten minutes," Jay said. Couches lined the walls and Kharak could be seen outside the one large viewport. On the opposing side, a blue wing crest was painted taking up the whole wall. The crest of Hiigara.

"I would love to stay and chat, but I need to report in before I do anything," John said.

"Oh, right! I have to go get the Porter ready for the test run," Jay added. "I hope to see you before you leave, Mark. I'll be sure to find you when there's free time."

"Sure thing."

They waited there, until hearing a voice familiar to all. "This is Fleet Command reporting Mothership prelaunch status. Command online. Resourcing online. Construction online. Cryogenic subsections A through J online. K through S online. Scaffold control, standby for alignment." Her voice echoed through the ship. She imagined thousands standing like her small group, anxious and awaiting the historic first step towards their interstellar mission. Mark was in awe, and had to be snapped out of it.

"Hey, we gotta head down below!" she said looking at her watch.

"Uh, right! Coming!"

The elevator brought them to an upper level. A blinding aqua light flooded the deck but their eyes soon adjusted. A row of fighters hung in docking racks ahead and a small group of people were gathered nearby; the other test pilots.

"Nice of you to finally join us," said the older-looking man but still no more than his thirties. She began to see what John meant. "Mark Soban, I presume?"

"Yeah, I mean yes sir, reporting in for fighter testing." She detested formalities, but saluted too.

"Knew it, you're a younger version of your father, for sure. Captain Leonard Nabaal, to you." His focus shifted back to the entire group. "I am Strike Command aboard this ship and thus the highest ranking officer as far as you're all concerned. I take care of my pilots, be they Soban elite or Gaalsien strays. You're all the same to me. Because I care so much, I'll go over a few things before you get started. This isn't the air force. Remember that."

"The Mothership has cleared the Scaffold. We are away." Karan's voice chimed in over his but he continued immediately afterward.

"One, listen to fleet command. No questions asked. She's a lot smarter than you are, and you'd better accept that early on because it's her strategizing that keeps you alive. Two, only launch with a green light. If you don't, the energy field keeping the air in will fry your equipment. Three, don't wander off. We don't have salvagers to spare to fetch your sorry ass if you go empty. Lastly, well, try not to get yourself killed. We have no way to know what we'll be expecting on our journey."

She nudged his shoulder and whispered, "I bet he rehearses that before bed."

"And when I wake up, and again when I'm done brushing my pearly whites. Your name is?" She was immobilized, as was Mark. They were both sure he couldn't have heard that.

"I-Isabella Manaan, sir. I must say, your hearing is flawless for someone of your—" she paused, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"What, age? I may be balding but I'm still in my prime, little girl." The group chuckled.

"Well, I won't be making that mistake again," she said laughing nervously.

"Alright enough of this. Go find your ships. Flight suits are in the lockers beside the ladders. Gear up and get off my deck!" The two of them ran ahead of the group, primarily to get far from captain Leonard.

"That guy's intense," she said.

"I think you'd better get on his good side fast. That's an order, maggot!" His imitation cracked her up again.

"Yessir!" She ran to the first fighter in line. He took the one beside hers.

The flight suits were easily put on, they vacuum sealed themselves fitting comfortably to any size. The helmets were simple jet fighter helmets, the kind she was used to. Climbing the ladder felt familiar enough, when unlocking the hatch and seeing the cockpit she smirked.

"I guess they decided to go old fashioned."

"Sure did. This is ridiculous, it'll be a blast!"

The controls were identical to the jet fighters she'd used before, the same technology that was used for centuries. The few differences were a couple small screens showing sensors information. Four coloured buttons were in place for aggressive, neutral, evasive and passive tactical presets. From what he could gather it routed power differently to weapons and engines. She started it up, and there began the differences. No engine she'd flown in front of sounded like the rough droning hum. The suit buckled into the seat automatically and the hatch closed. Like the newer fighter models, the head-up display was built into the windshield's glass acting as a screen.

The light turned green, time to think was over. She pulled on the throttle and shot forward when the clamps released. She dove down the hangar and flew out the opening into the void. She took another quick glance at the planet. The southern hemisphere was now entirely covered in a sandstorm. "A shame," she said to Mark, "it would look beautiful from here.

"Yeah… Anyone else here above rank six?" he asked. No one answered. "Alright then. Fall into delta formation. Isel, on my right."

"Roger," she said. The other five listened as well, being unsure who to take orders from.

Isel found she could rename specific ships on the HUD. She entered Mark's name above his ship. She tinkered with the other controls for a bit while waiting for orders. They appeared on one of the two monitors in the dash. They were given orders to fire on target drones while in formation. "Well, we have our orders. Let's test these babies out," he said, other pilots chimed in sharing his enthusiasm. She had to admit, he took command pretty effortlessly.

The drones came into view. The HUD displayed red pentagons around them. When in firing range, the crosshairs lined up visibly easier with the tactical overlay than blind shooting at the tiny orange specs. He opened fire and within seconds it flashed out of existence, She did the same seeing three others die off too. He ordered to pull up to start the next pass. She followed suit easier than expected. "The fun thing about space is that up is wherever you want it to be," Isel said doing a barrel roll.

"I guess they really do handle easier than jets, go figure."

The other five took no time to take care of. After the last was finished off they were given new coordinates. She changed course for the blip on the sensors monitor. Intel gave new orders.

"Same as before but now set to aggressive tactics preset. Also, formation is optional. Have fun." Three of them broke off in different directions. "Sixteen drones this round. I have centre left, first row. You take the one beside it."

"Got it," she replied. Isel stuck beside him. They both opened fire and took care of the targets. On their next pass they did the same but got two each.

He got a direct hit on another one and flew through its debris. "All done here, let's go back to base."

"What's your count? I'm at four," she said.

"Six, I think. Wasn't keeping track." He pulled up and twirled his ship around hers before coming up beside her.

"Show-off."

As Mothership came into view she saw a salvager launch from the hangar. Jay said something about getting it ready for launch, she wondered if he was piloting it too. They were guided into the hangar towards one of the central decks two at a time. The two of them took the first entrance, landing as smooth as they could having never piloted a ship of that sort before. They got out and immediately after the ships were towed away to a conveyor belt on the wall.

"Oh, so that's how they do it." She wasn't sure. The next two fighters landed rougher than they did. Getting out of there appeared to be a good idea, so they put their helmets and uniforms in a bin and headed for the elevator not wanting to risk being squashed.

Mark, realizing he didn't own a room, was invited to Isel's as she wandered to find her own. Her bags were already delivered for her as there wasn't time for that before the testing procedure. On entering, she yawned and lied back.

"Long day so far," he commented sitting on the chair by the desk. She checked her watch, it was now past three in the afternoon Tiir time.

"Hyperspace module fully charged. I am ready to initiate the quantum wave generator on your mark. Good luck everyone," Command said.

"All sections have reported in. Trigger the hyperdrive at your discretion," responded Scaffold control.

"Stop arguing over who goes first and jump us already," she groaned. Moments later she felt an odd sensation pass through her body. It was hard to describe, but it was mildly unpleasant for sure. "That'll take some getting used to."

"Hey you, get up. I'm hungry."

"But moving."

"I don't need to stick around you, you know. Jay's surely around here somewhere."

"Fine, gimme a minute. I haven't pissed since the hotel," she said.

"There's something wrong with that one," she heard him say to himself after closing the door.

Passing by a viewport after finishing up, Kharak was no longer in view. The journey had begun.


	6. Learn To Fly

MARK

The jump would not take long, but long enough for them to get something to eat. They ran into Jay on the way who was more than willing to join them. Most of the crew had places to be, and it left the halls empty, eerie almost. The background hum of the ship could be enough to drive some mad if listened to long enough.

"How long until arrival?" Isel asked.

"Three more minutes should do it, best to get going," Jay answered. He parted ways with them near the elevators. He had no specific ship yet. He would be given the third salvage corvette to pilot whenever it was completed, meaning he hadn't yet gone out.

The elevator door opened to the same blinding aqua as before. The group gathered again appeared to be waiting on them. "Took you long enough," captain Leonard said. "You both scored highest on the target drone trials, therefore you're both first picks for the new models." In addition to the seven Arrow scouts, two larger ships were in the racks. "The Blade mark five interceptor. Not as fast as an Arrow but double the firepower and twice the fuel."

"You say that like there's an actual enemy to fight," Isel said. The captain's face didn't lighten up. "Right?" She was uncertain now, as was he, same as the others.

"If you'd arrived here with the rest on schedule you'd have been briefed. The support ship hasn't responded to any of our hails. Fleet Command thought it was a miscalculation in the jump, but we're in the right spot. It's not. At this point, we have no idea what to think. It could be off-course, they could think we're early. It's been a decade, after all. We'll know for certain soon enough." He felt uneasy about the news. The mission's planning stretches back generations. It was hard to think it possible for there to be a miscalculation. "Enough, into your ships! I'll see you when you get back so I can get a report on their handling."

They all left for the ships. Once in the cockpit he noticed a few differences from the scout. Most noticeable was how cramped it felt. There were more controls on the dash and a third monitor. He didn't bother learning all the extra systems just yet; most were useless for his purposes. There was also the inclusion of a red eject and destruct option, he noted to avoid that.

The light flashed green, he unclipped. When out the hangar he took a look around. The galactic band could be seen ahead, the sun behind. The asteroid belt was cluttered with boulders and dust clouds. They lined up in parade formation. Three scouts branched off to escort the resource collector.

"So what's up, anyway? I missed something," Isel said.

"We might be a light-minute off course, in which case we make a smaller jump—" the pilot was cut off by a blip on the sensors.

"We have picked up the Khar-Selim's automated beacon," was Intel's interruption. A probe flew out the hangar door and it headed to investigate.

He opened a private channel up to Isel. "Hey, so it looks like your training might have to wait," he said.

"Yeah, I figured." Her voice wavered confirming the uneasiness he sensed.

"Listen, if anything does so happen to show up…"

"On your right, got it. Don't have to tell me twice. I'm rash not stupid."

They waited for the small green dot to reach the target area.

"The Khar-Selim has been destroyed."

Destroyed. It took a few seconds to register what Intel meant.

"Is anyone else hearing this?" a pilot asked.

"I can't believe it!"

"But how? What could destroy a ship that size?"

"An asteroid, maybe?" Isel added in.

"They've got weapons to deal with those and towing ships for the bigger ones," Mark replied. The centre monitor displayed what they all refused to believe. A massive wreckage in the form of the support ship. A gas cloud was surrounding it and there were bullet holes in the sides as large as entire fighters.

"Incoming targets, fleet." Leonard chimed in to the chatter.

He glanced at the sensors and sure enough small red dots appeared from the upper left.

"Keep it together, guys. Set to evasive tactics and get into delta formation behind me." He took the lead with no trouble from the rest. Orders were to protect Mothership.

"S-so do we know who it is?" Isel asked.

"Doubt it. Curious, how many of you have been in actual combat?" Silence. He sighed, but it could be worse. "Alright, do as I do. Don't break formation and get out of weapons trajectories. We'll make it home alive." He was in no position to make promises, but it kept them from panicking. They followed behind him, moving towards the targets.

He had too many questions, had too many thoughts to pick any one of them. If not for having something to focus on, it would be overwhelming. Many must have felt the same in that moment, the short but crucial interval of response to what was before them. Before he could think about anything else, there was an enemy to face.

"Our first encounter with an alien race and they turn out to be hostile. Great," she complained.

The squadron gained speed until making contact. They were under heavy gunfire, but let off their own rounds in return. One scout exploded in a flash, but two enemy fighters were also taken out. Another was hit by the debris. They spread out and reformed for the next pass. "Fire on the the lead three only, it'll break their formation."

They did so, and got two more. Two then locked on to him, chasing him down. He spun around and set to aggressive opening fire. The first blew up but he took off before getting the second. He turned the ship so the bottom alone took damage. He could hear the light tick of the rounds hitting the hull. The noise stopped."

"Yeah! Got 'em!" Isel had his back.

"We're getting too spread out," someone said.

"Doesn't help that they're fighting dirty," Isel replied.

"They're slower but have heavier armour than we do. Use that to your advantage. Just keep focus, and you'll be fine."

"Roger, squad leader." He wasn't technically in charge, but why argue.

"Sending out two heavy corvettes to assist in crowd control," Leonard answered. He'd been giving assistance to the pilots since the combat began. He had been quiet to him, assumed he was busy keeping the scouts alive and trusted his skill.

He ordered the damaged scouts to go dock with a nearby repair corvette that launched with the two Hammers. The corvettes rushed in and took aim. One by one the enemy ships exploded. These were not drones, he reminded himself. There were pilots in those ships. They had no idea what the enemy's face looked like or why they were fighting. But that's nothing new. Sometimes there isn't a reason, just orders and a will to survive.

They were outnumbered ten to one even with the five interceptors that launched after the corvettes. He had doubt in their ability to counter this, but let that thought pass. It would end soon enough one way or another, and best to keep his focus on the immediate problem.

"Is it over?" Isel asked.

"I think they're regrouping. We should take this chance to dock and refuel," he suggested. The others followed. The refuel stations were on the deck immediately within the hangar. His ship got clamped in and deck teams got to work. The ship was fuelled and the armour sprayed with sealant to patch the holes. When the light was green to launch, the clamps fired my ship out the door on a magnetic rail. When out, he saw a salvager moving in on one of the enemy fighters but it self-destructed.

When the squadron joined him, now made up mostly of interceptors, they were given orders to guard a salvager as it made its approach to Khar-Selim. A second squadron joined his. It was vital to get the data.

"How are there so many of them?" a pilot asked.

"My guess is there's a carrier hiding somewhere in the dust," he replied. Their approach took five minutes but no enemies appeared. The corvette's magnetic grapples hooked onto the wreckage. The airlock opened and an orange figure stepped out. He had a thruster pack on and used it to maneuver himself to an entrance. "Stay sharp," he reminded. No contacts. Not long after, the man returned holding a box half his size. Once inside, the group turned back. Contacts began closing in two at a time. They made no attempt to fully engage. This went on for a minute.

"Enemy units closing in with Mothership," Command alerted.

"Distractions," Isel said. She was right. There were far more ships ahead than coming from behind.

"Thought so. Squad two, head on home. We'll take care of this."

"Roger."

To the starboard our collector was guarded by a single scout. The enemy appeared to ignore the resourcing operations, which was some consolation. It meant a steady supply of resources for ship construction.

"They're like pirates," Isel said. He thought it was a ridiculous comparison until he paid attention to their behaviour. Their aim was poor even when in combat and when approaching they sometimes bumped into each other. Their formations were sloppy and some ships looked upon closer observation to be made out of parts from several different models.

"Pick them off until the corvette docks. After that we'll give a hand to the guard around the research ship."

Joining the main fight once the salvager was on its docking run, their remaining two wingmen were hit with a missile barrage. One ship was in critical condition and the other was worse off.

"Interceptor down!" The pilot didn't eject in time.

"Are you alright?" he said to the other.

"I'm heading back to dock. Shit's fried, I'm useless now." The two of them were on their own.

"Mark, there's too many," she was afraid, he heard it in her voice. That was reasonable. He was sure if the adrenaline that comes with taking command was absent he would be too. Glancing at the sensors monitor was a sobering sight. Many red, few green. And the red were closing in on them.

"I know, we can still make it."

"Mark, there's a swarm heading your way," Leonard said.

"I know, but if we dock they'll pick off our research division. They're more important than a couple of pilots," he said.

There wasn't a response to that. He wasn't wrong. "I'll get reinforcements out to you soon, hang in there."

The swarm arrived. Evasive tactics were helping to avoid direct line of fire and he dodged their shots well enough for the time being. Isel was keeping up but was taking on more followers than him, they were aiming for the easiest target. They put up a fight and wouldn't be taken out easily, but there were too many and the damage they were taking was concerning. "If you leave now one of us might make it," she said.

"Fuck that, I'm not leaving you here to die. Dirty bastards!" He set to aggressive, rolled back, and fired on the leader of the five following her. It exploded damaging the two behind. He took them out without a problem but began taking fire. He switched back into evasive and dodged a rain of bullets.

"Thanks," she said. Speeding away from her startled pursuers.

"Any time. Hey Leo, any day now!" As he said this, three ships behind him were destroyed. Hammers arrived to help thin their ranks.

"You're a couple of nut jobs, you know that?" the ship's captain said. Moments later two Blade squadrons joined in taking care of the few stragglers the corvettes' cannons couldn't track.

"Let's land these scraps."

He agreed. He'd had enough for one day. The enemy ships were retreating realizing their ships weren't fairing at all well now that the heavies joined the fight.

"Interceptor nine, back in formation!" Leo shouted over the intercom. Mark checked the screen and saw a lone dot moving far out of where it should have been.

"I see something. It's a ship! Huge! Bigger than a Nabaal carrier!" He knew how big those were. He'd landed on several before. "Wait, it's doing something. Danger! Beam weapons of some kind… Sajuuk have mer—" the voice cut out.

He saw what the pilot was talking about. A large light brown hulk. It fired blue beams of some sort out the front end. Despite this seemingly overpowered technology, the enemy continued retreating. The battle was over, at least for now.

Once the ship hit the deck and all systems shut down, he opened the hatch but didn't climb out right away. "You saved me today," he said thanking it. He relaxed into his seat and took a deep breath. Tears began welling up in his eyes as the rest of the thoughts came back. He was alive. His father would be proud, so would Valerie. Destroyed, he thought. The Khar-Selim was destroyed. Hundreds killed, having reached the end of a ten year voyage only to be met with death and destruction possibly only hours before.

After changing out of his uniform, he found Isel lying on the deck beside her ship. "You okay?" he asked.

"Solid ground is great. Don't care that it's metal and floating in space, it's solid and I like it."

"We're lucky." He held out his hand to help her up. When she stood she hugged him tight. She was shaking and wouldn't ease up. "You're alright now, we lived. You did great out there. It's a shame about the others, though." He could remember their faces, their voices. Gone now. He hardly knew them, and they were not prepared for this, none of them were.

"You saved me, thank you." She let go and ran off down the hangar. She was a tough girl, but there were a dozen moments she could have died in the past hour and she knew that. He decided to let her be for now. He had his own thoughts to sort through.

On his way to the elevator, Captain Leonard stopped him. "Is your friend okay, she was crying when the elevator opened."

"Well, she almost died a lot, she's never been in combat, we encountered hostile aliens, and we have no idea what's even happening so you tell me!"

"You did well out there, I'm not here to argue. I'll get a report on the ships from her later. We fear there are more enemies in the system, we don't know yet. We're returning to Kharak immediately."

"Or maybe the legends of the Gaalsien were true, the Khar-Selim was leaving the system so it was destroyed." He liked that explanation more.

"Listen, Mark. Your father was an old friend of mine. I'm glad you were here today. You've got his blood in you, that's certain." He recognized him now, it had been bugging him earlier. He was one of the two men in a frame on his father's living room wall. "Your bravery can get you promoted a rank, maybe two."

"I did it for her," he said. "She's just a kid. I don't give a damn about rank, it means nothing here. She's a rank six and has never been in a single dogfight. If this convoy is to survive you'll need to train them daily. I felt like I was leading a bunch of children into a slaughter!" The captain was silent.

"I know. I'm sorry. We didn't expect this kind of confrontation, especially not here within our own star system."

"That's what you're not seeing. It's not our system, Hiigara is. I'm starting to think there's truth to the legends now and it terrifies me. I'm asking you, captain, what kind of monstrous power can exile an entire world of people all the way across the galaxy? You really don't want to be unprepared again." He began to walk to the elevator.

"Mark," he stopped him. "Just so you're aware, my nephew was the wingman who got hit with missiles. Half our interceptors had faulty ejection wiring." He couldn't say anything more about it, Mark felt a cold chill run through him. He couldn't look him in the eyes. "Dismissed."

He wanted to be home. He wanted to go for a long drive on his bike, he wanted his sandstone hut and he wanted Valerie above all. The day had been too long. He felt Mothership slip into hyperspace, and felt himself slip out of his mind.


	7. Sudden Life

ERIC

He hadn't been able to think straight throughout the past hour; he assumed many felt the same. It was hard to believe in coincidence when his entire childhood he knew the tales. "Those who leave before the penance paid be punished by he who's hand shapes what is." He spent many days in Saju-ka's libraries reading from morning to afternoon, the immersive stories surrounding the first city and it's eventual downfall followed by the first people's migration north.

The lobby's screen flicked on, returning him to the moment. "A captured enemy corvette has given us insight into the alien menace we faced today. After careful interrogations, we discovered they are known as the Turanic Raiders. They were hired to patrol the edges of this system to ensure no craft leaves. They suspected these were the intentions of the Khar-Selim and destroyed it. When the corvette-class ship was opened, a liquid solution poured out. We assume it's their natural environment. The creature survived for only twenty minutes before suffocating." An image of the pilot appeared beside the reporter. Tall, pale white skin, black eyes, no hair and what he could compare to gills under the chin. She continued, "We will now show recordings recovered from the Khar-Selim's black box. Playing last entry."

The screen showed only an audio wave "What do you mean you detect a hyperspace entry? The Mothership isn't due for—"

"Sir, I have multiple contacts on closing vectors. Unknown profiles. No recognition codes. Uh, they're not ours."

"Well, if they're not ours, who the hell are they?"

"Sir, they're coming in fast. Check. Incoming fire, we are under attack! They're getting through! Preaches across all decks, hull integrity failing!"

"Khar-Selim to Mothership! If you are receiving, abort hyperdrive test. Repeat: abort hyperdrive test!" Only static followed.

The reporter returned to the screen. "It appears we do have an enemy out there, it is no longer myth. With the support ship gone we will return to Scaffold for repairs and sub-light engine tuning. This is Natalia Kaalel signing off. Sajuuk have mercy on us all."

He stood in silence as the screen flicked off. He was convinced these enemies controlling the pirates were the same as those of the legends. A great evil, one that drove them from paradise to the world of their penance. It was the last part, now, that he couldn't help wondering about. The word was specific: a voluntary punishment. A punishment for what? That he did not know. Did it mean their ancestors had guilt for something long ago? What crime was so terrible to have an entire planet's population put into exile?

His concentration was broken as a person ran into the room, a girl with short-cut brown hair. Her eyes reddened, she kept walking not noticing him. Crying, he thought. Not surprising given what's come to light. Still, she looked familiar. Then remembered a list of pilots' portraits from a news update during the battle. She was out there fighting for her life, fighting for his too.

He questioned the reasons for his decision to come. He felt helpless the entire time the battle was ongoing, but all he could do was watch from a distance and listen to the occasional interruptions from Intel or Command and watch the screen to see what new data was available. He wanted to help out, but knew not how.

Another stepped into the room, this one he recognized. Mark Soban, son of the Hellbringer, as his people called him. Supposedly he traversed the Great Desert alone at age twelve, then joined flight academy and made a name for himself there too under his father's influence, of course. A man he had no respect for. A man who slaughtered thousands of Gaalsien and who led the assault on Saju-ka when his parents were killed. Out of the many pilots that died today, he survived. Part of him wished he hadn't, callous though it might be.

"A girl came past here, right?" he asked.

He nodded, and the Soban ran off after her.

He did risk his life for her, he saw it himself. He was then torn between wanting to hate him for the pain his father had caused him and his people and giving him a chance to prove his worth. He decided to follow and find out more.

He approached the door Mark ran to and listened in.

"It changes everything now. I want to blame someone but there isn't anyone," he said.

"Look at you. I'm not the only one blaming myself. Mark, you did everything you possibly could. Our wingmen weren't trained for this; none of us were and it's a miracle we made it out alive." There was a brief silence, then she continued: "I'm uneasy now, though. I mean, what if we're in real trouble? Like, all of Kharak?"

"It's best not to go there. We don't know anything. And even if we did, what can we do? We're fighter pilots."

"I personally am scared shitless and I grew up in a scorching hot desert where people could die at any moment from too many ways to count."

"I think when we dock with Scaffold there's gonna be a change of plans. Trained pilots are gonna be needed if there's combat to come. Which means my father and I along with many more will more than likely be tagging along. I don't know. I'll help out however I can either way." He wasn't excited about that thought. He heard a noise inside.

"Huh? They want us back in the hangar for briefing," she said. "Great."

"Well, let's get this over with."

He rushed off down the hall to avoid being seen. Though, curiosity overtook him, and he followed, making sure to keep a fair distance. He got into the elevator next to them along with a swarm of others, presumably other pilots being called to this briefing.

The mood of this crowd was noticeably somber from what they had just been through, or at least what some of them had just been through. There were more pilots than ships, currently. the doors opened and he moved with the group silently, trying not to be noticed. Ridiculous, he though, as it wasn't like he had to hide.

Some faces he recognized, the two from earlier, Jay who he only met recently, and up on the podium were Fleet Intelligence, Leonard Nabaal who is strike command, Cromell Soban who is head of security, and a few others. It was Leonard who spoke first.

"In light of recent events, we are debriefing all pilots to the possibility of an attack on our home. You are our primary line of defence and we rely on your abilities to protect us. We do realize many of you are currently traumatized by what has come to pass. I lost my son today. Believe me when I say our thoughts go out to you. Fleet Command will take it from here."

"What I am about to tell you is confidential information. Only the council of Sas and a few higher-ups in the private police force. Contact with the Khar-Selim was lost several months ago." He paused as the crowd erupted in confused chatter. He signalled them to quiet down, and continued. "We had no knowledge of what had happened. The flight recordings revealed they did in fact attempt to communicate with us, however, we never received the message. We know very little at this time. What we do know is that there is an enemy out there, and we have successfully defended ourselves against them. Unfortunately, we were unable to salvage any of their crafts. Both attempts resulted in them scuttling as our salvagers were latching on, so we have no way to know more. We will dock with Scaffold and while the sub-light drives are being completed we will decide whether or not it is feasible to bring on more military forces. We have sent hypercomms to the station and Markus Soban and a number of others are on their way to be briefed on the situation. That is all I can tell you at this point." He left the podium and escorted to the elevator by Cromell.

Leonard spoke again. "It is also worth mentioning that training will begin soon for new pilots who wish to join our ranks. There's simply not enough trained professionals on the ship at the moment to face a larger threat than what we have come across. That being said, many non-essential crews will be gradually moved from their quarters near you and relocated elsewhere on the ship, so don't be surprised if your neighbours are suddenly evicted. We urge you to push for those you think may qualify to enlist. We will not be forcing anyone to sign up, as there is a possibility of death, as we all know too well after today." he took a moment of silence. "Thank you all for coming. Dismissed." The man could barely utter the last sentence, and stormed off away from the group gathered around.

He tried to find out where Jay was to ask to let him know when he could sign up, and found him over with Mark and his wingman. He didn't know they were acquainted, and changed his mind. He was sure it would be advertised well enough.


	8. Midnight Society

MARK

It had been a few hours since they left for Kharak. When returning to the floor's lounge his friends were talking among themselves but before he could join the conversation, Mothership dropped from hyperspace. He approached the window looking at a sight none of them could believe or understand. Immobile in a stunned quiet, unable to make sense of the scene before them. It was Karan who broke the silence surely spread throughout the ship for those at least who could see.

"No one's left. Everything's gone! Kharak is burning." The last three words confirmed what none of them wanted to. Mark's knees went weak. He fell to the floor.

The screen flashed on to update the fleet. "Kharak is being consumed by a firestorm. Scaffold station has been destroyed. All orbital facilities destroyed. There's a significant debris ring in low Kharak orbit." The reporter had to pause and wipe her eyes. She continued, but her voice wavered. "We are receiving no communications from anywhere in the system. Not even beacons. All crew members are to report to action stations." Before the screen went black she began to cry.

As did Mark. Tears welled up in his eyes as he watched the horror. The other three ran for the elevators. He couldn't move. He couldn't even blink.

"Mark, let's go!" he heard Isel shout. The others went ahead as she ran back. He didn't register her shaking him. His thoughts jumped from person to person, all the ones he knew and loved, dead. His father, Valerie, his fellow pilots, the friends he had in Tiir. All gone. All dead. "Mark!" She smacked his back hard. He looked at her but couldn't focus past the tears. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of a thing to say. "Hey, we'll have time to feel later. We have a job to do."

"As a Soban I am obligated to say my job ended the moment we dropped from hyperspace. We fight until our contract has ended then we go home. I… I have no home to go back to." Nausea came over him speaking those words.

"Sobani stubbornness, I know of it. Pilot! New orders. Defend the Mothership." She held out her hand to help him up. There was no other option. His father would be ashamed of him if he crawled to a dark corner alone as he wanted to do so badly just then. "We all had families down there. I know you're feeling this a bit more than the rest of us but we have to fight. We're all that's left." He knew she was right. He was numb through his whole body, but he took her hand.

On the elevator ride up, he tried to calm himself. He needed to focus.

"Wait, on the maintenance frequency. I'm getting a signal from the Cryo Trays in orbit. One of them is suffering a major malfunction. The Trays are under attack."

The elevator stopped and they ran out the doors to their ships. Less than a minute passed and they launched to join the others. The targets were larger crafts with heavier weapons. Frigate class. "This is Mark Soban reporting in. All fighters set to evasive tactics and swarm the enemy. Draw as much fire from the trays as possible." Each tray was important, housing a hundred thousand people in stasis, now the last of their race. They passed a group of salvagers. He knew Jay would be piloting one but had no way of knowing which. The other pilots were following his orders and it was working. Only the one ship continued to fire on the Tray, the rest tried to defend themselves.

Two salvagers moved in for their approach on the first frigate guarded by repair corvettes. The enemy ships turned to fire on them but the swarm blocked most of the shots. They were too slow to lock on and were firing aimlessly into the storm.

"Ship disabled, bringing it in." The tray was safe. The other salvage corvettes moved in to collect the Trays starting with the damaged one.

"Requesting salvage teams to collect the enemy ships before the intact trays. We'll be low on fuel if we have to keep this up, and our weapons sure as hell aren't strong enough to take them out," he said.

"Sounds like a plan, Mark." He changed the name of Jay's corvette and watched as it made an approach with another on one of the enemy ships. They took hits but the repair ships countered what damage their cannons could make.

Another shot fired. A repair corvette exploded taking out an interceptor with it and damaging a few more. He had an idea. He broke formation and fired on a front cannon.

"Mark, get back in formation!" he heard Isel yell. The frigate fired, taking out its own weapons. "On second thought, do what he just did." A few fighters did the same and it gave similar results. The ships were defenseless. The fighters could regroup without worrying about enemies damaging the trays.

They had won, and he kept his focus when only minutes before he thought there was no saving his mind from the devastating shock.

"We're done here, head on home and let the vettes clean up strike teams," Leonard said. He saw one of the enemy ships exiting the hangar and another move in to dock. The frigates were guided to the platform bridging the main hangar side with the large bay on the other out of the way from fighter docking pads. Upon his approach he could see a tray being loaded on the other side into the capital hangar. He also saw the security force moving people off the enemy craft at gunpoint.

He met up with Isel when landed. "How're you holding up?" she asked.

He took a moment to think about an answer. "I'll survive."

A screen on the hangar wall lit up. The same reporter was back. "All hostile vessels captured successfully. Interrogations are underway this very moment. They appear identical to us physiologically. We are unsure as to the significance of this. We have also saved three stranded pilots in low orbit, none of which, however, are our hero Markus Soban. They reported him to have been leading the assault but are not ready emotionally to recount the details at this time." Mark had to sit down. She joined him. "Intelligence has also released footage of the flight recordings to us. Be advised, the contents are graphical and involve the destruction of Kharak. Standby for playback."

A small probe craft approached Scaffold station. Two salvagers launched but were destroyed. A group of nine yellow and red striped fighters flew by. A large carrier ship similar in size to the Turanic one encountered earlier was launching fighters. It was an entire fleet. The carrier was surrounded by other ships varying in size, some corvettes others larger than frigates. Missiles from the planet destroyed some frigates but left the larger ones only damaged. "Prepare for immediate surface bombardment." He was unable to turn away. A squad of fighters then launched from Scaffold.

"Markus, watch out! Yeah, got 'em." The enemy must have tapped into their communications. A group of enemy fighters flew up the station's interior firing on the fuel tanks. Scaffold then erupted into a flaming wreckage. An explosion blinded the camera and all that was left was charred debris. The video ended shortly after bombs hit the planet's surface causing widespread destruction.

"Analysis of the flight recordings show that the Kharak missile defence systems heavily damaged the attacking fleet. However, we have concluded that at present, they can still easily defeat us. We have therefore plotted a course to a deep space asteroid belt. There we can hide and prepare our fleet for an assault. Our research division has finished analyzing the captured frigates. We have reverse engineered the drive technology and developed two new ships. Plans for a third are underway but will require further research. All Cryogenic Trays have been loaded and the jump will begin shortly." The screen turned off.

He got up and walked to the elevators. Isel went after him. "He died defending his entire world." She was talking about his father, of course, trying to console him.

"I know, It's just… You saw that firepower. Our world's best couldn't beat them. We're outmatched." Their technology. It's so…"

"This ship, it and it's crew are the best our world had. Now we're all there is and we'll have to make due."

"I'm not confident we can defeat them."

"Neither am I, but there's no other option. We beat them or we go extinct." He couldn't argue that.

The elevator ride was quiet. "You know, we've skipped out on debriefing twice now," she noted.

"I don't like it. You don't need to avoid it with me if you don't want."

"I don't like it either." The elevator stopped at their floor's lobby.

"Hyperspace module charged. There's nothing left for us here. Let's go." The voice on the loudspeaker had the same emotion they were all feeling. One of sorrow and defeat, of numbing sadness and disbelief.

He looked out the window one last time. "All of us stardust," he said.

"Burned into existence anew," she finished. An old scripture spoken after battle.

"I guess that's all."

"I guess so."

"Hyperspace initiated," Karan announced.

He was given a room close to Isel's. There were plenty of rooms to accommodate the few hundred new passengers that had not originally planned to be on the voyage. There were also many empty from the missing Khar-Selim crew. He laid in bed trying to sleep and trying not to think of what had happened. Hours passed and sleep wouldn't come. He heard a light knock on his door. It was three in the morning. He figured not many would sleep well that night.

The door opened and she closed it behind her. "Can't sleep?" he asked.

"Sleep? Hah. I can't stop shaking, forget sleeping." He sat up and turned on the desk lamp.

"Come on, sit." She sat beside him. He put his hand on her shoulder, she was indeed shaking like she said. "What's up?"

"Anxiety, mostly. I forgot my medication back in Tiir and haven't gone to the pharmacy yet." She held onto his hand looking down at the floor. "You saved me today. I doubt if I was out there alone I'd have lived."

"I owe you one too. When you ran back for me, well, I lost everything. I felt numb. I'm not sure what I would've done if I ran off alone." He met her eyes. A lighter hazel than his dark brown. Valerie's were the same. He looked away out of guilt. He was not ready to let go of her memory.

"I lost my mother. Not that she ever cared for me, but it's still sad. Another Manaan pilot that I knew was killed too."

"I gave Leo a good shout down earlier. I think we're gonna need to start teaching or something since they plan on hiring all these new pilots.

"Time to whip these rookies into shape," she joked. He felt her head on his shoulder. He brushed his hand through her short brown hair.

"I'm terrified, Mark. I won't show it but I am." He rubbed her back as she continued. "Our enemy has the power to light a planet on fire. We've left our star system behind and are now going into hiding to prepare for what? A counterattack? How can we pull that off?"

"Like you said earlier. I don't know, but we have to. There is no other option." She kissed him on the cheek and got up to leave. "Thank you," she said closing the door. Not after long did he feel himself falling asleep. He couldn't tell if it was her clearing his mind or simply being close to someone. Either way, he was okay with the comfort this girl provided. He wanted nothing more than for the day to end.


	9. Bitter Taste

TRISTEN

She sat alone in a dark steel-walled cell block. Bars covered the other three sides of her, cold metal to her back, steel floors. Outside this room, more steel. She'd grown tired of steel long ago but it was all there was on the Gladiator. No others were locked up in her prison block and it had been a quiet past couple hours.

Her heart was heavy over what had happened, and she felt no guilt for her harmless crime. Not so much a crime as it was insubordination, but the solution was still to lock her up to think about it without disturbing everyone around. Her crime, refusing to participate in utter genocide.

The doors to the cell on the left opened and a man was thrown in next to her. "You're lucky we still need information from you otherwise you'd be dead," a guard said walking away, once the door on the far left closed, she was alone again. Well, except for this new stranger.

He laid down covered in his own blood, silent. She thought he might have passed out. She stood up to look over at him. "Who's there?" he called out. He was an older man, balding, his beard greying. His skin was a dark tan and his rough tone was one of defeat. There were bandages covering his eyes.

"The sight will come back after a few days. I assume you're one of the, uh…"

"Kushan," he responded sitting up against the cell bars. He had bruises all over his near-naked body. Well built for his age, but that didn't help here.

"I'm so sorry for what was done to your people," she said hoping he wouldn't think of her as an enemy. "It was barbaric."

"Thank you. Do you have a name?"

"Tristen Alaikiir. I'm a fighter pilot, or at least I was. What's yours?"

"I don't need one anymore. Just call me old man," he said. He attempted a laugh but coughed hard. "So why're you in here?"

"I refused to take part in genocide." She was not the only one who disagreed with the orders, but the only one willing to refuse and speak up about it. "And you, how'd you end up in here?"

"I saw Scaffold get destroyed. I figured if I was gonna do any damage I'd crash my ship into the carrier's docking bay. My eject didn't work. It's for the best, I guess. Now I don't have to suffocate watching my world burn." The head bandages were wet from blood and tears.

"Did you have any family?"

"A son. He was on the Mothership, though. He's a tough kid."

"Well, good news for you is the Turanics failed destroying the fleet in the system's outskirts." She saw him smile.

"Think they'll let me live if I ask nicely?" They both laughed.

"You should rest. They'll be coming for you when you wake." She felt sorry for this man. He lost his entire world and now couldn't see the face of the enemy who did it. He climbed clumsily into the bed taking her advice.

It was silent for the next hour. She listened to his pained breathing and stared at the metal ceiling running through the past day over and over.

"Do any of you honestly want to take part in this?" she asked her fellow pilots. "It's insane!"

"It's also a direct order from the Emperor himself," came the first reply.

"What, no cease and desist, no warnings of any kind?" Looking around the room, she saw others had the same expression, but remained silent. "Has the Emperor cleared such a thing with the Galactic Council? You're talking about the extermination of an entire planet of people."

"That isn't for you to judge, you're a pilot, a grunt. I suggest you follow orders and do what you're told."

"No," she said. "I won't take part in this. None of you should."

"You'll be disobeying a direct order."

"So be it."

She heard footsteps approaching again but only one set this time.

"Trix, what've you gotten yourself into this time?" It was her wingman. She had a love-hate kind of relationship with him, he always made dirty remarks, even after she kicked his ass for the third time. However, he was more attractive than most of the others on the ship, so it wasn't a total loss that he kept following her around. He was also the only one there for her when she heard of her parents' deaths. "You look like shit by the way."

"What do you want? I'm not to be released for another few days." He didn't defend her position in the meeting. She wasn't angry at him, really, but at the whole of the group.

"My uncle's in charge of the prisons too, remember? I could get you out if you do me a small favour." She knew the kind of favour he was asking, he often did so in front of others to embarrass her. She would still get together with him occasionally, due to him being the only remotely likeable member of the crew. She rolled her eyes.

"Jake, if I suck your dick will you leave me alone? I might bite, though. It's been a bad day."

'Hah!" Apparently the old man was awake.

"For you, blondie, it'd be worth it."

"Pathetic. Go away pig," she grinned.

"Fine. But in all seriousness, I actually came to tell you that you've been taken off the strike force until we get to Hiigara. Captain's orders, nothing I could say to change his mind."

"What? That bastard!" She shot to her feet. "You tell that fucker I'll fight him for it. I can take him, the lazy shit probably hasn't worked out in a year, and fucking every woman on the ship doesn't count."

"Vicious, that's why I like you. As much as you're a bitch to me on a daily basis, given I deserve most of it, I do have to give it to you. You're a far better pilot than I am. From what that guy's been bragging," he pointed to the old man, "I hope the captain reconsiders. I'd feel a lot more comfortable out there knowing my squad leader wasn't gonna be Derek."

She let out a groan lowering her head to the bars. "He's worse than you are, what's the captain on?"

"I don't know, but when you see him next, please get him to reconsider." He put his hand through to stroked her hair. "Look, I don't agree with the shit they pulled either, but it's out of your hands. Please try to get back on the captain's good side. We need you out there."

"How do you propose I do that?"

"Do you need me to answer that?" he smirked.

"I'm not sleeping with him."

"Yeah, didn't think so," he laughed. "I'll let you rest. I'll be back to keep you up to speed when we know more."

"Thanks, Jake." She lied back down again once he left. Creaks could be heard in the walls. The ship had taken a real beating from the surface missile defences.

"I'm not sure if you're into him or if you wanna kill him," the old man chimed in after a few minutes.

"A little of both, I guess."

"Reminds me of my wife. And don't apologize, she's been gone for years."

She was glad to have met one of these Kushan. It made her decision feel more justified. It gave a face, even if only one, to the people they slaughtered. She closed her eyes and thought of home. She'd been away far too long. After a short while, she began to fall asleep putting an end to the worst day of her life.

She woke up hearing the guards throw him to the ground back in his cell. "You'll break eventually," the guard grunted. She then noticed the smell. She was still in her flight suit and was in serious need of a shower. "And you, glad you're awake. The captain wants to see you. Get up."

She listened, wanting more than anything to walk around for a while. She looked down at the old man, bloody and beaten. He had lash marks across his back. The cell door opened up and she was led out uncuffed.

"So listen. Cap's in a pissy mood right now so I'd behave."

"Oh, why's that?"

"Apparently the imperial guard won't send support to us. We're low on rations since a missile hit one of the storage cells." She heard a roar from a deck below and the room shook sending them both to the ground. "What the hell?" Another shake brought down part of the ceiling on his head knocking him unconscious.

When getting back on her feet, she looked back at her cell and to the man still locked up. She made a decision. She wasn't going to let them torture until they had no more use for him. When she got closer, he was coughing.

She opened his cell with the guard's keys. "What's going on?" he asked stumbling along confused .

"I'm not sure, but you're getting out of here. I know a secret. The walls have hidden maintenance access halls. Mostly it's wiring and pipes, used for when the ship was being built." She knocked on each panel until she came on the hollow one. It took effort but she managed to get it to pop open. It probably hadn't been used for decades. She led him inside and put the panel back in place behind her.

After ten minutes of crawling along, they found a ladder that led to a larger chamber, about the size of a prison cell. It'd have to work as his den.

"It's better than nothing. You'll stay up here for now." His wounds looked bad. "I'll be back with food and bandages. Keep quiet and you should be fine, no one ever checks these anymore."

"I'm a little exhausted, I think I'll sleep."

"Okay."

"And kid, thanks."

She snuck through the maintenance network to where she assumed was a medical supplies room. She lifted a ceiling tile and peeked in. Empty. She dropped to the floor being as quiet as she could. The cabinets, lucky for her, weren't locked. It had to be quick so nobody would see. She only needed two bottles. After finding them, she decided next was food. That wouldn't be as easy, as food was probably being guarded due to supply shortages. She jumped from the table up to the ceiling vent, but got caught pulling herself up. Her arm slipped and she fell to the floor tearing her flight suit at the leg. A cry of pain couldn't be stopped and she hid once able to move. Her leg was torn and she was bleeding.

She held the gash trying to keep quiet. The door opened and footsteps were heard approaching. "Trix? I've been looking for you if you're there." It was Jake.

"Over here," she replied. He ran over to her but was shocked by the blood.

"Hold on, I'll find something." He ransacked the drawers and cupboards to find some gauze and medical tape, he also found a suture gun. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of paper towels. "Just stay there, I'll take care of it. Looks pretty bad."

"It feels pretty bad," she said.

He went to work cleaning up the wound. A five inch vertical cut. "This is gonna hurt, probably a lot considering we're rushing it, so bite on this." He handed her the gauze roll and poured and cleaned out the wound a final time then used the gun to seal it up. She passed through the pain after a minute. "At least you picked the right room for this, so mind me asking what's going on? I was having breakfast with my uncle when he got a call that the hull buckled on your side of the ship a few floors below you, so I went off to see if you were alright. Found a guard unconscious but you weren't there, so I didn't report it in."

She couldn't lie to him after he'd possibly saved her from bleeding to death. "I'm hiding the Kushan in the maintenance crawls. There's a large enough room not too far from here. I felt too guilty to leave him there."

"So you are a traitor, then?" He looked a little shocked.

"Calm down, Jake. We're the bad guys here not him. He's already lost enough. I'd rather kill him myself than let him get tortured any more."

"Alright, but if they find out, I know nothing of this. I guess we'll make up an alibi for you."

"Meet me back in your cell block, it hasn't been too long so the guard's probably still out cold."

He handed her phone back, she wasn't sure where he got it but remembered his uncle was head of security. She hugged him tight, grateful for helping her. He massaged her neck and kissed her forehead. "I rely on you too, you know. Who else would I pick on?"

She gave him a smile briefly before stepping back. "I'll have to get food tomorrow, I can't do much else today. Help me up."

"Sure thing."

Once in the ventilation duct, she told him that she'd call if anything was needed. He closed the grate behind her and she headed back to the old man.

He thanked her again for helping him, but she couldn't stay long. He understood, and went back to sleep. Once returned to the cell block, the guard was indeed still out cold, and Jake was already there waiting.

"Guess we should wake him up," she said. They nudged him, smacked his cheeks, anything they could think of. "Wonderful. Guess we'll carry him out," she said. They each picked a side, and carried him. It didn't take too long to see an officer, and he rushed over to them.

"Hey, what's going on here?" he asked.

"The hull breach threw us around a little, he knocked his head pretty hard, me not so much," she said.

"I was able to wake her up, but not him," Jake added.

"Listen," she said, "Cap wants to see me, so if you can help take over for me, that'd be great."

"Best not to keep him waiting then," he said grabbing the unconscious guard's arm.

"I'll call you when I'm done. Gonna need quite a few drinks after all this shit," she said. Jake nodded.

It took fifteen minutes to get over to the bridge sector. The ship was in hyperspace, so the captain would be in his office. She knocked. "Come on in," he said.

"Tristen Alaikiir here on your request." Captain Valan Corin, called simply Cap by the crew was a larger man who did nothing to maintain his body or hygiene. She smelled him before she opened the door. His teeth yellowed from the cigars he kept a personal stock of, and his beard full-grown and greasy, as was his light-brown hair.

"Right, the pilot. Take a seat," he said. "Disobeying a direct order and attempting to get others to do the same is enough for a court martial, you know."

"I am aware."

"However, we're currently in a bad way, as you might have guessed by all the damn banging and creaking around the ship. I've taken you off the strike force as punishment, however, you will remain on duty as a consultant and strategic planner."

"With all due respect, I'm the best pilot you have. I think it's a mistake to take me out of the field because of some personal disagreement we have," she said, trying to keep as calm mannered as she could with him, any slip up and it could go very wrong.

"You didn't only speak out against my orders, but against the Emperor's as well."

"Yes, but you're short on staff and not getting any support from the Imperial Guard. At least that's what I've heard."

"This isn't a negotiation. I'm a generous man, miss Alaikiir. I could make it so you never fly again in as little as five minutes. I won't do that, because I do see your talent. It's needed talent, I'll give you that much. Which is why you're allowed to remain on duty. I will not, however, accept any further insubordination from you. Do we have an understanding?"

It was better than nothing, she admitted. "I would still recommend Jake Tyral as my squadron's new leader. He's better than Derek at quick thinking."

Impatiently, he repeated: "Do we have an understanding, miss Alaikiir?"

"Yes, I suppose we do."

Once back in her room, Jake was there waiting for her. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"I'm off the force but remain on duty as a consultant, so you can still talk to me while out there, but I won't be able to have your back. I recommended you be the new squad leader, but he didn't say much about it. We'll see, I guess."

"Damn. Ah well, you tried at least." he put his arms around her, and she buried her face into his chest.

"Damn him, I hope we don't make too many pit stops before Hiigara, I'd be so pissed if it takes three years to get to fly again."

"Let's hope. Listen, you smell absolutely terrible, so how about a shower?" he said.

"Read my mind."


	10. Mark The Graves

MARK

It had been two days since the Kharak Genocide. Most of the fleet couldn't sleep well. Medication was only now being distributed to help and the effects still didn't show themselves in the faces of everyone in the mess hall that morning.

Jay thought it would be good to get everyone together for breakfast since they were all each other had now, and hadn't spoken much since the incident. They had most trouble finding out where John was staying. Bridge section, apparently.

"I've tasted a lot of horrible shit in the desert but this is by far the worst tasting thing I've ever eaten," said Isel.

"Right, you're a Manaan. I've been looking at what the crew's made up of. Many pilots from your clan on here," John said. "Plenty of Nabaal and Sjet, of course."

"I think I'm the only Soban pilot. I haven't met any at the briefings the past couple days," Mark added. After the first night following the disaster, Leonard called a gathering in the main hangar. It was later announced that training would begin the day after the funeral ceremony, which would be held tonight. He thought it best to allow grieving time. Mark was in command of these sessions and Isel was to be his assistant per his request.

"Do you have ideas for your speech?" Jay asked.

"None so far. I've barely started coming to terms with this and I'm supposed to make some inspirational speech. Hah, right."

Jay hit him on the shoulder. "Think positive, buddy! The entire fleet'll be listening." Jay hadn't talked much about how he was handling it. He had one chance to meet some part of his family and it was taken from him. Mark knew him enough to know that he was repressing whatever pain he felt, still always smiling as if nothing bad has ever happened to him.

"Besides, people already know you thanks to your father, now you can maybe earn their respect for yourself," he said. That idea he did like.

They continued to eat and talk about how they were doing, find out what they had in common. John's family had been in the attacked Tray. He was not sure what their status was, names weren't released yet for the deceased. It was lucky they arrived when they did.

"I've also been commissioned to command the first support frigate when we arrive at the asteroid vein. I'm excited about that but it means I won't see very much of you all on the trip."

Isel congratulated him in her usual childish manner making the group laugh. It was good to hear people laughing. Mark was not quite there yet, but he enjoyed being around a somewhat cheerful crowd.

"I apologize, but I really have to get to writing that speech. I'll see you guys before the ceremony." He smiled and left them to continue their conversation. He did have to do his speech but he also wanted time alone to think over what he planned to do now that he didn't have a home to go back to. Before going to his room he decided to wander the ship for a while.

The closer he got to the middle, the older everything looked. The walls were rusted and heavily bolted together instead of the sleek smooth walls on the outer sections where his room was. The lighting was a dim orange rather than fluorescent white. He imagined some areas had been built before his dad was born. Only days after launch and the ship was already a floating relic. He noticed a staleness in the air. He sighed and turned around to go back, figuring he'd have better luck planning things out at his desk than wandering the old lonely halls.

The blue lights of the hangar deck where now out save for a dim red glow from the resupply dock. A crowd gathered around a fire kept lit by fuel, as no wood was onboard, and they'd need far too much paper to keep it lit. There was a podium in front where speakers said their words of kindness and read passages from the books of old. Grim and sorrowful faces were seen in most of those attending in person, and there were sure to be many others watching from their rooms.

Mark, he stood alone with the other few Sobani of the crew, most of them high ranking officials working on the bridge levels. He crossed eyes once with Jay's copilot but he looked away and paid him no further attention. Cromell, chief of security, was also present. He could not recognize any of the others, but many threw him glances of condolence. His father was a well known man and had been the Sa of the Soban following the passing of the previous in his old age.

His friends were all gathered with their respective clans. He saw Jay and John standing together with a crowd of Nabaali. Isel stood with some of the other Manaan pilots.

"Nervous?" a man behind him asked.

"Not much, I know what needs to be said. This crew needs spirit, they need a reason and hope to go with it."

Mark was invited up to speak after captain Leo shared a few words. Staring out at the crowd felt less nerve racking than he'd expected. Then again, not all that many had their heads raised, or were otherwise watching the flames burn.

"I'm sure I need no introduction. You all know my name, mostly from my father's. You all know of him, but it's fair to say I'm the only one who really knew him." He paused to see that he had the attention of many, confused looks came to him. "We've lost many, too many to name or even to count. Our families, our friends, the ones we loved dearly. We haven't only lost our people. As I stand here and as I've seen throughout the halls in all the faces I've seen, we've lost our spirit." He now had all the attention. "I lost my father, you lost your idol. A war hero, a man of unparalleled strength. But was he? The man you all know is little more than an image he chooses to show you. You see the victories while I see the sleepless nights, the bottle in hand, and tears in eyes. This is not to say he was a weak man, he was the strongest man I've ever met. But not for winning dogfights or securing peace, but for taking on the responsibility of all those lives he'd ended since no one else did, to bear the guilt's weight for all the death and destruction.

"We're now the only ones available to hold on this burden. We decide the future of our clans. This is not about some fanatics launching missile threats from desert camps in the middle of nowhere, we are on a long journey to reclaim our rightful home, our original world.

"We are no longer the clans of Kharak. We must move on from that and become greater. Kharak is destroyed and that's something we will eventually learn to cope with. For now, we have one thing to give our focus, and that's these new enemies ahead. These Taiidan. The task is a frightening one, possibly even impossible, but this is the only option. Don't ask if that's what Markus the Great would have done because he's not here and won't be coming back. To our fallen Kushan brothers and sisters, to those of us here today, and for whoever we encounter on our way. All of us stardust, burned into existence anew." The pilots repeated the line and stomped the deck with each foot. The crowd applauded and he walked back to the other Sobani.

Each clan now proceeded with their own customs and rituals. His clan's ritual required bloodletting. Each cut the clan crest into their palm and it was collected into a jar. "Mark, it isn't traditional, but would you do the honours of lighting the blend?" Cromell, a thick bearded man said. Many others were nodding.

"But the Kiith'sa—"

"Was your father, the blood heir to Soban the Red. Lineage has not necessarily been of much importance, but we figured for this special occasion, having said such moving words, that you would be best fit."

"I don't know what to say, thank you."

"Your father was only Soban'sa for a short time, but he had been our friend for many years. He took little pride in his work with us, he did however take pride in you. We can see why quite clearly now." The group of ten of them bowed, and he did in return. He then noticed the faces were familiar. Possibly from pictures his father had around his house.

The ritual was simple enough. The blood of all friends and family of the deceased pooled their blood into one to signify their unity. After that they wash their hands with a healing solution and wrap the hand in cloth. The jar is topped off with an oil less dense than blood and then the fire from the cremation was used to catch it. It would burn for hours, and the ceremony would be finished when the flames went out. It was not necessary to stay to the end once the flame was lit.

He proceeded to the fire with a torch and lit it in the flames. He walked carefully back to the group gathered in a circle. A young woman held it out to him and nodded. He touched the flame to the liquid and it lit. He blew out the torch and returned it to Cromell.

"Oh flames of our past," he began, "return our fallen to the air we breathe and send their soul into Sajuuk's hands so he may shape the next. All of us stardust, burned into existence anew. We remain here as the seeds for all things to come." The jar was brought over to the fire and placed on the surrounding bricks. Some came to give their own, adding to the pool.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Jay smiling. "Nabaal services are pretty brief so I figured I'd see how you're doing."

"I hope I said enough."

"You said it well, kid." Jay's copilot said approaching us. "I picked you for a spoiled runt like your father, but you do have a way with words and with the people. Right now, it's what they need. But don't let it get to your head."

"I'm not sure I've met you before but you look familiar for some reason."

"I am Robert Soban."

"No way, he thought you were killed," Mark said in shock. Jay stood confused, wondering what either of them meant.

"I'm your uncle."

His friends left them to talk alone. The hangar was beginning to clear out; only a few grievers remained. He was told that he had an uncle that died long ago. "Was my father aware?"

"No," he replied. "I was glad to be out, to start my life over. Markus and I were never on the best terms. When your mother came into the picture it was the end for us. I loved her first but I bet he never mentioned that." He hadn't. "She broke my heart and stole my little brother for good. That's about the last I remember of her."

"I never met her, so I wouldn't know. I know he loved her. He blamed himself for her death, never really got over it."

"You have her eyes. Other than that you're definitely his son. He pulled out Mark's necklace. "Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"Not sure, it was the only thing they left me when leaving me to the Paktu couple who raised me."

"It was hers, she was always wearing it. From her home city Ferin Sha. It's been a lifetime," he said. He knew their parents met in Ferin Sha. It was a communal Manaan town that boomed once a year for a festival that lasted weeks. He wasn't too familiar with it, he'd have to ask Isabella.

"How'd you die? Or not die, I should say. He didn't ever go into details."

"I narrowly survived my last mission but was decidedly killed in action. Knowing that, I became someone new. I married, had children, and grew old. Now I'm here."

"I have cousins?"

"Had. They were not among the ones chosen to leave. As for me, it's a long story I don't feel up to sharing." The room was now the two of them. The fire would burn until the day change in an hour.

Mark hadn't heard much of him. His father told stories of his mother and their friends, never his uncle. There was only one photograph from when they were in their teens. Maybe he chose to forget him after whatever split them apart, or perhaps he felt guilt about how it turned out. He would never know and now it didn't matter. Mark said, "Sajuuk's hand, or our long lost kin. These Taiidan they've captured. They look just like us."

"I heard they didn't survive the interrogation process," his uncle said.

"Good. I want no mercy spared on the likes of them." It was unlike him to hold a grudge, but understandably he made an exception. His life was stolen from him, his home, his family, his love, none of that remained but in memories. Gazing on the dimming light of the fire, he decided he would do what he could to ensure justice is paid and their exodus arrives home safe.

"I'll see you around, kid. I suggest not to stick around too long. I hear there's much to do tomorrow." He didn't forget. The pilots on the Mothership were for the most part low on combat experience, fresh out of the academy. They were not bad pilots, but the battle at Khar-Selim's resting grounds showed that coaching was needed. They've already lost too many and if they were going to survive the journey a good strike force would he an excellent first step. The first group to train weren't participating in the fight, having an insufficient number of fighters. That wouldn't be the case next time, and he wanted to make sure everyone was competent.

He knew the Taiidan were a more sophisticated enemy than the Raiders. They haven't gone up against their pilots and didn't know what to expect. The pilots they rescued from low orbit stated they were a formidable opponent. If they weren't prepared to face a militant and trained enemy attack force they would be in trouble. He took a last glance at the blood jar before turning to leave.

He saw Isel standing off in the dark watching him. Curious, he approached. "I'm exhausted but can't get to sleep," she said.

"Who can?" he replied. "No idea what I'm supposed to do tomorrow. I'm hoping we'll get through the basics easy enough."

"The fleet's the best there is, after all."

"The fleet's all… Oh, funny."

"Yet, true." There was a morbid side to her humour that amused him. Best to joke about tragedy than grieve for the unchangeable. He learned that from seeing how dwelling on it affected his father; he wished he'd never have to contain that kind of sorrow.

"Let's take a tour around the place," he suggested. Neither could sleep and there were sure to be many halls left unexplored and many rooms yet unseen in their new home.


	11. Ruined Ends

ERIC

The night revealed to him many things. The first being he was the last Gaalsien in the fleet, having seen no group of them at the ceremony and knowing none became Sleepers. He instead stood with the Nabaal, the largest group. It was a somber thought despite his poor opinion of his kiith. All the history unknown to the archives, gone. All the tales of old, lost to the Genocide. Many tales he'd known as a child were only told orally. Not only had a people been lost, but a culture. A telling of history. The Gaalsien tales were by far the oldest of Kharak, some dating back to Khar Toba. Some myths date back before then, tales of their banishment and their sin.

He decided as the sole remaining member of the oldest clan in history to create a database of all that was lost that he could remember. Many of the more familiar stories he'd begun writing down. Others he had to approximate, and it pained him the original works were not with him to double check any mistakes he may have made, but he had to continue on anyway.

One of the longer ones was set around the first moments of arrival, titled Khar-Adama, the First Men. The next was a tale of the First Men's departure from Khar Toba, the perils of trekking north through harsh sands and brutal heat. The others were for the most part non-written tales of their origins, ending in the tale of Hiigara, the lost promised land, their paradise, their home. One of the more known Gaalsien texts, being told in various forms from nearly all kiithid.

He wrote through the night having lost track of time. He'd completed a fifty page set of seventeen stories he remembered almost entirely. He then had to choose a title. He thought about it over a long shower. He came up with one that he decided fitting: Gaalsien Legacy: Vol. 1, and signed it only with his initials. He printed out ten copies to leave at various crowded areas. He would have to be quick about it, he wanted to attend the pilot training session later in the day.

The halls were empty, it was still early when he emerged from his tiny room. The lights were all on but nobody to be seen down any halls he came across. He held the copies, placing them in each of the lobby rooms he passed on his way to work. Most of his job involved wandering the halls ensuring the floor was clean and replacing trash bags in the lobbies. It was easy work for what little money he would require. It also gave him clearance to normally off-limits areas. There was not much interesting to see behind most locked doors, however.

He did get a good idea of the Mothership's layout. Beneath the main body was entirely dedicated to the Trays and below that at the very base of the ship there were the long range sensors. The main body housed the hangars and pilot and maintenance quarters. Resource containment began at the stern drop off points and storage was along the main body's hull as an extra armour layer. The prison was also in the aft section. To the bow of the main body was utility ship docking for collectors and research ships, up to a maximum of six each. Towards the top and bottom of the main body was the rest of the crew barracks. Above the main body, the bridge section located outside the main hull, purely an aesthetic decision as it left the entire control centre vulnerable. Inside the hull behind it housed Command and the hyperspace core. That section was highly off-limits, even to him. Just below towards the bow of the bridge was short range sensors and communications. The top housed the hydroponic farms and recycling systems for waste, air, and water.

He figured it was some unknown genius engineer's design from generations ago, because everything fit perfectly in place. It was amazing.

He had dropped off all copies he had on him and was walking around the pilot housing having completed his morning run. He turned the corner to see the manaan girl leaving Mark's room. He checked the time, it was still fairly early. He continued his route deciding it none of his business.

Once he returned to his room after his shift, he immediately began sorting out his desk that had become a mess. His computer stored the important files, so the paper scribblings he had for notes weren't that important anymore. He opened the bottom drawer and dropped them all inside and closed it. None of them were important, as those stories had already been put in a book. He had folders filled with other scribblings, like a list of what to do next. Another folder held his various thoughts for his other project.

He checked the time again, still two hours to go before the pilot training began. "Great, I still have time," he said to himself. Time to sit down and think.

The ceremony the night before had changed his opinion on Markus Soban. His son's words spoke to him. He was no great man, but simply a man strong enough to carry a great burden. It does not change what he has done to the Gaalsien, but it does change how he perceived the killer. He now had a less guilty conscience about going to learn how to do exactly what he did from his son.

He gained a deal of respect for him as well. People were listening to his words of hope, and the mood of the ship today was changed. It may have simply been due to the ceremony as a whole, but he certainly had part in it. They needed it. People do not generally recover easily from death of loved ones in great amounts, he knows this from experience.

Not simply his own, but all those around him growing up. After Saju-Ka was destroyed, the survivors joined a Manaani convoy. He still knew who was there, and it took them years to recover, some never really did. Some had lost everything. Mothers, fathers, children, everyone had someone they lost that day. He could still remember it from start to finish.

He woke up one morning at age thirteen, had breakfast with his parents and baby sister at their kitchen table. Their small neighbourhood within the walls of Saju-Ka had about ten thousand people, a significant size for what was essentially a communal refuge town. It was the largest one, and the most significant to their people due to the temple's importance to them.

"Off to the libraries again today, Eric?" his mother asked.

"Uh huh," he replied.

"You know, I could use a hand fixing Percy's roof," his father said.

"Leaking again?" she said.

"Yup, third time this month. Floor's turned to mud overnight. Real shame."

"I haven't any plans today, why don't I go help instead. Not afraid of getting a bit dirty," she laughed. "It's good that he's spending so much time there reading. I'm very proud of it, actually." His mother winked, he smiled.

He finished eating, and was off. The cloth that acted as their front door gave way to a dusty carved tunnel that was their street. It led eastward to an open cavern where light was reflected in from outside in tunnels, and artificial lighting fixtures hung from the top. It was only a short jog until he came to the temple's inner library building. The receptionists knew him by name at that point and didn't stop and question him.

He had an uncommon fascination with the old. Every time, he tried to find the oldest-looking book in the section he was in that day, and read through all or most of it. The texts were not allowed to leave the building without permission, and he was too young for a pass anyway, so he read while inside. There were plenty of desks, but he preferred to sit on the washed floors leaning on the aisle shelves.

The day's choice was Architecture of Sajuuk, and it contained beautiful descriptions of things otherworldly. Nebulas, galaxies, all kinds of things he struggled to understand. The heavens, it said, were filled with all kinds of wonders. Clouds rising extremely high and arching over, greens and pinks everywhere. He didn't understand what it was all about, or that these things actually existed out in space. He did not even understand that the night sky was only so dark because of how far Kharak's sun was from the centre of the galaxy, yet he read on anyway.

He was midway through when it happened.

A far off booming sound could be heard overhead, and a siren sounded. He knew what this meant, and put the book back where he got it, and ran. He moved his legs as fast as he could, picking up speed. He ran straight to where all were to go in this situation, the bunkers several stories under the main level.

Hundreds crowded the cavern around the elevator platforms.

"Mom? Dad? Hello?" he yelled, he looked around for them but couldn't see them. He waited five minutes more and seven explosions later before he decided to check his home.

"Hey kid, stop running, it's not safe!" someone called. He ignored and continued on.

He ran to his house, stopping to catch his breath before checking inside. Empty. He looked around everywhere, but it being a small carving out of stone, didn't take longer than seconds to search the whole place. He then remembered they had gone to fix a roof at one of their friends' house. He knew where it was, and started off towards it, ignoring the booming overhead.

He began crying out of panic, as the bombs became more frequent. He knew their defences would have been sent out at first signs of attack, but clearly missiles were getting through, which scared him. What if the lights go out? What if the ceiling collapses over the main cavern? He stopped thinking about that and kept on running until he no longer could.

The tunnel was caved in three houses before where he needed to be. He dropped to his knees in front of the wall of rocks and sand. He realized his parents and sister were dead. Percy's roof was leaking, meaning it was probably the weak point of the collapse. His family was covered with the full force of the mountain they were cut into. He cried out this time. He cried out for a long time, he couldn't tell how long. Tears and dust blurred his vision, and the lights went out.

When he woke up from passing out, he saw a feint light in the distance and followed it. He could not see his hands two feet in front of him, but he could see a dim flicker off ahead, and ran for it. Approaching, it got lighter. He turned the corner and saw that it was coming from the main cavern. He ran to it, and saw why he could see.

The cavern had collapsed, and the temple had been destroyed. The library, the altar, the gallery, all gone underneath several meters of rock. He looked up to the sky and saw it was clear and blue without a cloud to be seen. Awestruck at the sight, he forgot for a moment about the deaths and the destruction. He could see four mounds moving up, and then kept moving up carrying the pile with it.

The elevators were designed to push debris away from the holes before coming back down for everyone to escape. His eyes still red, he went over to them, as there was nothing else to do now.

When he got there, the first group of people had arrived. They were in tears, stunned, or expressionless as they all processed what happened: the temple was gone. Saju-Ka was destroyed, and their homes along with it.

The Gaalsien'sa spoke to all those remaining, roughly three thousand out of ten, and said they were once again forced to face the harshness of the surface. They could not remain in Saju-Ka. The aqueducts were all caved in, and their greenhouse farmland on the surface was all gone. They had no food and no water other than what was available in the shelter, which would only last them a week with rationing.

By the time night had fallen that day, all of them were on the move. Even if survivors remained, there were no tools to dig them out before they would run out of supplies. And he knew, he knew in his heart that his parents would have had quick deaths from the collapse. Others, however, may not have been so fortunate. He was happy to be alive, but he was filled with anger. An anger that seemed would never go away.


	12. So Others May Live

ISABELLA

Six-thirty in the morning, not many were awake. She left his room in a hurry to get into hers before being noticed. She didn't know if anyone would pay attention, and it wasn't against any rule officially, but the thought made her uncomfortable anyway. It helped that they were neighbours. There was only one person in the hall, a maintenance worker. Quickly, she rushed over to her door and went inside hoping he either didn't notice or didn't care. She had his smell and needed to get clean. As the hot water sprayed down at her, she thought back to what happened.

They wandered around the ship until finding a dark room with a window along the wall. They assumed it was an unused lobby in an unoccupied part of the ship. A conversation for maybe an hour happened between them about their lives on Kharak, their hobbies, generally trying to know each other more. She was still under the effects of the ritualistic herbs smoked at the ceremony, her people's custom. The conversation became intimate, which was her doing.

They sat on the floor staring out the window. "See, thing is, I know I'm attractive. I'm the adorable girl who's also willing to get dirty with the boys. It would he hard if I couldn't keep up, but I can, and I'm usually better than them. Fixing machines, setting up the temp mud huts, hunting, you name it."

"And I'm sure you've abused that fact, right?" he said.

"Oh, plenty. Once years ago, I got this kid from another convoy we met with to follow me around to do my chores for an entire week. Then his convoy left. Yeah, I was a bit of a manipulative kid."

"And that's changed?"

"I think so," she said. "Leaving my clan was hard for me, I was twelve. Manaani tend to be mature for their age because of the lifestyle, but even then it wasn't easy."

"I don't think adorable is the word I'd use."

"Oh no?"

"Nah, you've been an annoying pain since I met you, literally four days ago."

"It'll grow on you, you'll see. I'm still pretty though, won't you admit?"

"Yeah, I guess you're not wrong about that. Keep in mind, I was in a relationship until, well, you know."

She knew. They became silent, and she decided to give him a hug, leaning her head on his shoulder. It took him a few seconds, then he put his arm around her too.

"You don't need to comfort me about my dead girlfriend, you know."

"No, but I still want to," she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Cute girl gives you a kiss, what're you gonna do about it?" she joked poking his sides.

"See? Annoying!" he laughed. They held each other's gaze, and she then couldn't tell if she was still high or if it was her emotions. They kissed, finally, and it went on from there.

"Wait, did he kiss me, or did I kiss him?" she asked herself washing the soap from her hair.

They went back to his room and continued on his bed. It was very late and she was tired. "You can stay if you want," he said. She wanted to, and so she did. Nothing more happened between them than they'd already done. He said it was hard to be alone. She knew what he meant, and it's mostly why she stayed, despite thinking it wasn't the best idea.

"In my defence, forehead kisses are my weakness. Well, it's too late now," she said turning off the water. She'd made it no secret about being attracted to him, but his reasons for sleeping with her were possibly mixed up with him missing his Valerie. She shook that thought, thinking it needless jealousy. She felt guilty not being more sensitive to his loss and decided to give him space if he needed it. He'd felt the most loss in this; that didn't mean she'd go too easy on him but it did mean she'd be considerate and not an asshat. Not too often, anyway.

After getting dressed, her thoughts centred on more important matters, like how she would be helping with the first training session. Were it a week ago, she would have felt unworthy of the responsibility. Now, she felt she did qualify, almost dying does that to a person. But she was also a lot younger than most pilots, and it would be difficult getting them to listen to her. She decided that was Mark's job to help with.

Mark and her left the group in the mess hall after lunch to meet their trainees. Neither mentioned the night before and Mark didn't look uncomfortable during the elevator ride. She decided she was overthinking it. It was time to be professional anyway, it was sure to come up when appropriate.

There were a couple dozen in the hangar, the same one that only last night was crowded for the funeral service. "Maintenance sure works quick," she said. They stopped in front of them. There were many in attendance they hadn't seen yet. Then again they hadn't met very many of the others, as they've arrived at the hangar late each time.

"Sorry if we're a bit behind, lunch was more important," Mark joked. Some laughed but most kept serious. "Those of you laughing failed my first test, but it's mostly to see if this group as a whole feels up to the challenge. Now, we don't have time to go through all of basic training unless most of you've never been in a fighter before." Apparently most have flown before but none have been in combat. As Mark spoke she looked at each of them taking mental notes. None much older than twenty, still to her annoyance all older than she was. Then to her surprise, she spotted the same maintenance worker from the morning hiding in the back row. "I'd like to have my partner speak about how she felt during her first battle." All eyes shifted to her. She didn't know what to say.

"Like, how it felt, or how I'd describe it?" She wasn't shy but she didn't expect him to put her on the spot like that.

"Anything, just tell 'em about it. It's still fresh in your mind is why I'm asking," he said. It made sense.

"It started as a nervous confusion. Then there were enemies, aliens. They came at us in clusters. I was afraid. It's not like me to admit fear but it was terrifying. There were several times I only lived because of a chance maneuver to the side, or turning at the exact right time. You can't plan for that. You guess at it and predict when they're gonna fire, timing it. Those were just pirates, unorganized, clumsy pirates."

He continued: "Being out there is a rush of anxiety and fear if you're not used to it. My job is to make sure you stay alive by giving you some advice over the next few days on how to deal with that rush so you can focus in battle. I want you all to get into groups by rank. Six over to my right and unranked over to my left, and those ranks in between can sort yourselves out. you have twenty seconds." They both set timers.

"So, what's the point of this?" she whispered to him.

"Response time and communication," he said. It made sense. When the timer ran out, he told everyone to stop moving. He pointed to one person standing alone. "What rank are you?" he asked.

"F-four," he said nervous.

"Rank fours, where are you?" he asked. They raised their hands, he was in between threes and unranked. "You're dead, by the way. In fact, any of you who didn't get into position in under ten to fifteen seconds are dead. Communication is vital. Listen to the chatter, pick out what you need to hear, and help out by saying stuff. If you're quietly talking to only whoever's closest to you, nobody will hear from the other side of the room to know, or more so, if you don't talk to your squad mates, one of you might have someone being tailed. You're far more likely to survive if teammates notice and help out. Might not even know they're being tailed. We'll try this again. Twenty seconds, sort yourselves by age, youngest to my right and oldest to my left."

They set timers, and watched what looked like a mess of running and shouting numbers. Once their timers beeped, he again told them to stop moving. This time, there were no other lone pilots. Actually there was one. "Age?" she asked.

"Fourteen," he said.

"Any other fourteens here?" he asked. Silence. "Well, looks like you're not the youngest pilot after all," he said.

"Ha, ha. I bet you those three beside him are sixteen, how about it, guys?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Second youngest isn't much better," she said.

"Now then, all rank sixes take three steps forward," he said. People from a variety of age groups marched to a stop, which surprised her. "How old are you?" he asked the oldest of them.

"Twenty three," he said.

"And you?"

"Seventeen," he answered.

"Now, rank fours do the same."

"Twenty four," one said.

"Sixteen," said the other.

"The point of what he's gettin' at, is that age isn't a criteria for skill," she said. "You see people older with less skill than you and you see people younger with more skill than you. I would know. Fifteen and rank six, possibly up for promotion, or so I've been told. So get that out of your minds as it's useless when it comes down to how likely you are to survive outside the ship."

"Well put," Mark said. "Now, we're gonna put you all in a cockpit and see how you do. I requested ten interceptors, they gave us all fifteen. Find a ship, get in. Isabella and I will come by to assess how you're doing."

"Skipping all the theory, sir?" one asked.

"Duh, how's knowing theoretical info gonna save you against aliens trying to kill you?" she answered. "This isn't a classroom. If we decide you're not cut out, you're out and won't be flying until you pass. We'd also be a lot more comfortable relying on you guys if you know how to make your ship work the way it was designed to."

He nodded, and went along with the rest to find a ship. Mark started on the far left of the group and she started on the opposite end.

The first she came to was an older woman, maybe mid-twenties, who was pushing a few buttons, then in frustration hit the dash and palmed her eyes. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"I can't get it to start," she threw back. It's been a rough time for everyone, it wasn't taken personally.

"Safety breakers. You won't get ignition if they're closed."

Understanding her error, she managed to get it working, and exhaled the pent up emotions.

"Have you been in fighters before?" she asked. "Helps to know your background."

"Yeah, I've flown before. The systems look similar, but some I'm not sure what they're for."

"Extra engine controls given it's fusion torch technology, not exactly what you're used to. Don't worry about 'em right now. The sensory inputs are straightforward enough."

Tara Bendal, was her name. Her house was a vassal of the Manaan. Rank five, age twenty three. There's that Manaani ageing that's familiar to her. The desert hadn't been kind to this one, as her mother would say.

One by one, she talked to them, showed them how things worked if they didn't know and marked off those she thought needed proper training, and those who she felt could be pushed into their quick three day program to get them battle-ready. Tara made the cut, as did three of the next ones. Then, she was caught off guard by having to assess the maintenance worker.

"Eric Ga—Manaan," he stuttered. She sized him up, curious. Dark skin, and the pale brown eyes she'd seen on them throughout her childhood.

"Gaalsien or not, I am Manaan. I hold no aggression for the old clan. Now, let's see what you're able to do with this thing."

He nodded, and turned on the engine. "The basic layout is the same as the latest generation superiority fighters, and there's the added inertial dampening controls and engine systems. Those look like current redirects like on the drill dowsers used where I grew up." He knew his stuff, at least.

"Can you fly?"

"I've only flown in atmosphere, and it was only once. I mostly drove the jets to the hangar and refuelled them, then brought them back out for launch," he said.

"No flight experience, huh? Ever been in a simulator?" she asked. "I assume you're unranked?"

"Never even seen a simulator, as you can imagine given my heritage. I did manage to take off, maneuver through, and land in a sandstorm, though."

"I've heard of the Gaalsien moving their crafts when visibility was low to hide their numbers, quite smart. Reckless, but ingenious," Mark said walking over with his arms crossed. "What brings you here?"

"To the ship or the training?" he asked, it was clear Mark made him uneasy.

"Why you're on the ship doesn't matter now, cause the ship's all there is. I'm more interested in why you want to risk your life to defend people who would otherwise judge you, and tread you like shit."

"Honestly, I feel I need to do whatever it takes to ensure our people's survival. I'm one man, but I've been around fighters my entire life. I know how they work, I know how they feel when they're getting too banged up, or when they're at their limits. If I can help out, I will. I don't really give a damn what they think of my kiith." Mark was wide eyed at this answer.

"Well, Isel, I think you've found your fellow wingman," he said.

"Seriously?" she said. "I didn't think you could choose."

Eric stepped out of the ship. He was a half-foot taller than Mark was, but had no substance to him, quite lanky. "I'm honoured you think so," he said. "But why?"

"I have a feeling about it," he said. The knowing look the two shared reassured her that this Gaalsien was up to the challenge.

"Welcome to the Red Squad," she said punching his shoulder. "Hope you're up for it. Cause if you fuck up and we all die, I'll kill you."

The three of them shared a giggle at her joke, but they still had more pilots to assess. She overheard them talk as she walked off.

"I grew up in Saju-ka," Eric said.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah. Listen, I heard your speech last night. Whatever grudges I may hold towards your father don't extend to you. Just don't try to get me to sympathize for him."

"Fair enough."

Saju-ka… It meant many things to many people. When spoken, the air becomes heavy and somber. The single greatest travesty against the Gaalsien people. An estimated five thousand buried alive, and thousands of years of history erased. What remains of the Gaalsi traditions and texts slithered their way into Manaan convoys and various Sjet databases over time. Some scholars grew mad with wonder at what was lost in its libraries after the attack. Even though many of the Gaalsien joined her caravan, she had never met anyone from the great temple.

They continued assessing the pilots, the next rotation of fifteen was all they could get through. After gathered again on the deck, Mark said some things about it, and asked thirteen of them to step forward. These would be the first to get the fast training they had planned. The rest would have their chance, he promised them of that.

He had a way of getting the full attention of everyone in the room. Maybe they respected him, maybe it was his status. She couldn't tell. Either way, it made him a leader to them. She saw it in their gaze as he continued through the lesson, and wrapped it up.

Afterwards in the elevator, she mentioned it to him. "You think so?"

"They listen to you, they respect you, they even like you; unlike Leo." They exchanged a laugh.

"For the record, I don't regret last night," he said. She nodded. "It's nice to finally be accepting that this is real and not some nightmare I can't wake from." She gave him a kiss before the door opened and left to finish reading a bundle of pages she'd found that morning in the lobby. She had no idea who it was, it was simply signed E.G. but much of what she had read sounded very familiar to her.

As for Mark, she was uncertain what to think about it at that point. She decided to go with whatever happens, and worry about it when there was time to worry. Live life day by day, the Manaan way.


	13. Hold Up My Head

TRISTEN

"I hope it's enough. There's not much to go around and getting even this much was hard," she said. She decided that morning in the mess hall to steal some food for the old man. She also brought him a couple changes of clothes from the market. At least she got to keep her salary with her current no-fly position. "You could also use a shower, no offence."

"Could I ever," he said.

"How's the vision?" she asked. The interrogation methods of the empire were barbaric, but the physical effects wore off over time.

"Better, but still not quite there. I can make out your short blonde hair, but still can't make details of your pretty face." He tried his best to bring a smile to her face when she would visit. "And as for the food, it's not like I need much. I don't exactly have anywhere to move around." He had a point. There was barely headspace to stand straight.

She enjoyed spending time here talking with him, hearing about all the wonders of the world her people have destroyed. It reminded her of when her grandfather would visit from Kilendel and told her tales of Old Taiidan. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"So, you say you actually come from Hiigara? It's hard to believe," he said.

"Why so?"

"The word itself has been reduced to legends and fables over the millennia. You have to understand, our people have spent nearly a century moving towards understanding our origins without much progress. Our colony ship took sixty years to finish, and we had no way to know if it would even find anything when it got there. It was our last effort to save ourselves; Kharak was dying. Fast."

"I see," she said. Of course, it wasn't dying as fast as her people managed to kill it. It still sickened her what happened. The ship shuddered and she stumbled into the wall. "Jeez, those missiles really screwed us up."

"What is that anyway? Did we stop or something?"

"Every ten hours or so the hyperdrive needs to cool off and recharge. The rumbling is new, but don't worry too much. The ship should stay in one piece."

"Well. That's reassuring, where's it going?"

"I'm not quite sure, really, probably an asteroid field to restock our resources and start on major repairs. After that, who knows?"

"A planet, I'd hope. I don't think it's wise to keep hiding forever."

"Doubtful. I haven't been on a planet since I took off from home. That was five years ago."

"Tells me much, the planets probably have different orbits."

"Right," she said. It didn't even occur to her, but it made sense that this would be the case. She knew Kharak's star, LM-27, was both older than Hiigara's sun, and hotter.

Her fascination with astronomy went back to childhood. She once heard Old Taiidan had a year exactly as long as Hiigara's and a star exactly the same type and age, something agreed to be almost impossible to be natural. She would have went on to become an astrohistorian were it not for the high restrictions on information under the Immortal Emperor and his predecessors.

In fact, her decision to continue into military was based off the potential of continuing on into that later on as it would open up more doors. However, she instead discovered she was a talented interceptor pilot, and not much has changed over the years because of this. She secretly hoped, despite her resentment about it, that being taken out of active duty would be a good thing. Time would tell.

She didn't stay too long with him; she had other things to do. Mostly tasks she'd neglected for the past couple days. Her room was mid-sized having paid for a better one over the years. She still had her flight suit piled in a corner, where it would stay until she finally did a load of laundry. Another thing she'd decided to forget about.

At her desk, she grabbed her tablet and opened up the file, reading aloud. "Pilot profiles, huh." It was a list of the Gladiator's pilots and how they compare to each other. Her name was still in there, second in response time and third in leadership qualities. there were thirty-eight. Not quite a full load outfit, but approaching there. They had lost eleven in their last mission, just over a squadron and a half's worth.

Her job was to sign off on squadron reassignments and provide her input on what she thought the choices should be, the best reassignment plan would get chosen, and from what she was aware, there were only two other people making these plans.

It could be seen by some that she was given a promotion, but she and the other pilots didn't see it that way. It was essentially a no-confidence decision to get her out of the field to not risk her betraying the fleet and therefore her family for the past five years. It hurt, but she understood that it wasn't something she had a say in, so taking this position was better than nothing.

She noted that she thought it better that Jake be the new leader of her old squadron instead of Derek, even though Derek's leadership qualities was three points above Jake's. Jake, however, had a much faster response time and accuracy, which she thought made up for it. She also knew them both, and knew the other wingmen respected Jake's say more than Derek's, which she added as well. The new replacement was unfamiliar to her, but the chart said her accuracy was about the same as Derek's, and her personality profile didn't seem bothersome. She knew better than to trust numbers alone when judging someone's ability, something the higher-ups did all the time without thinking twice.

Her own profile, for example, put her as highly confrontational, when personally she knew that was from disagreeing with orders that she felt unnecessary or dumb. She would also often correct people, not always in the nicest ways either. And yet, all this, and she is among the top five pilots in her division. Something even the captain won't dispute.

Hers wasn't the only squadron getting reassignments, though. They'd lost eleven fighters in total, across multiple squadrons. Each average squadron has seven ships assigned to it. Some were easy assignments. One squadron had three remaining units, and they would add them to a squad who had lost three instead, deciding which squadron would remain the leader based on skill level. Another squad lost their leader and one prime wingman, so the other units were separated into filling the remaining squadron holes. They now had five full squadrons and three others to form a new one.

As with what happened to her, replacements would need to be put into each skilled squadron as one of the final four of the squad wing. Meaning, one member of these four of each other squad needed to be swapped out. Since her former squad had a replacement already, it was exempted. She put the four taken out into a new squad as the final wing of the new seventh squadron, and judged which of them merited a promotion to prime wing. She then looked through all the other squads' prime wing members and determined based on the last mission's statistics who merited promotion to squadron leader. Three candidates stuck out, Derek, which was a surprise, and Sonya, a member of Squad Three. They met before but weren't acquainted, despite the abhorrently low male to female ratio, which apparently wasn't surprising armada-wide. The last, Holland, was a member of Squad One, he had been offered promotion before but denied it, stating his squad worked best as one unit and didn't want to leave it. Sadly, this wasn't the place for feelings. He was clearly best suited to lead, and Sonya was too, and her squad already lost their leader, so it was exempt once again until next reassessment. The two of them became the new leaders of their respective squadrons.

Squad Six had three remaining pilots, two of which were promoted from final wing to prime wing, and got three new recruits, and Sonya as their leader, having shown to help out new recruits more often than the other candidate. Squad Seven had four trained pilots, two of which are now prime wing, and two new recruits, with Holland as their leader. She wrote up a three page report on her thought process on it to attach to her edited data sheet, signed her name, and submit it for review.

Her mailbox hadn't been checked in a week, and decided to catch up on anything she'd missed. Urgent notices were sent to her watch, but these were rare. She decided the hard work was over, and laid on her bed with the tablet to get away from the desk. She didn't see anything new or important, mostly it was junk mail. Advertisements, not that she had use for them so far out in the periphery.

Jake left a message that simply read "Hope you're alright, see you soon!" to keep up appearances, since their mailboxes were monitored but the ship's cameras were rarely working being decades old. That was her first bit of freedom, as she'd discovered, but also the reason she had much fear the first few years aboard. First off, the Empire couldn't monitor her every move as they did on Hiigara, so she could finally have privacy. However, it also meant nobody else on the ship was monitored either, and these were a rough bunch, and she was a young, pretty girl of fifteen on a primarily middle-aged male crewed carrier built thirty years ago as part of a hundred and forty such vessels to serve his majesty, the Immortal Emperor.

She got many looks the first day aboard, and after the first week it became apparent the halls would not be safe to wanter after shift change. Not unless she toughened up, anyway. The ship had a gym, and the outermost corridor could be used as a track. She wasn't the only one doing this, which is where her and Jake first met. They'd been track buddies for months before either actually spoke. They'd seen each other at pilot briefings too, but it didn't surprise her, it was an imperial carrier, after all. A hundred and fifteen of the three hundred or so crew were pilots, either corvette or fighter. Minimum crew redundancy of fifty percent was mandatory across the Empire.

The first attempt happened one year after her arrival on the ship, just after her third combat with a resisting world. A man no taller than her caught her off-guard.

"Out late, are we? Say, you wouldn't happen to be one o' those little minxes would ya?" He held onto her wrist tight. The term referred to the few females who sell their bodies on the ship. She hadn't known much of it, only being sixteen at the time, only haven explored that bodily activity the weekend prior to leaving, with her former romantic partner who she had to break ties with.

"No, I'm just coming back from a workout, can't you smell?"

"All I'm smelling is perfume from a late night wanderer," he said pulling her closer. Luckily, she wasn't unprepared for the encounter, and head butted him in the nose and stepped on his toes, and punching as hard as she could with her free hand to try and wind him. He let go, and she ran off.

She didn't yet know of the maintenance corridors she'd later put to heavy use, instead she ran to her room and took a bath, not knowing what else to do but concentrate on what happened. She thought it best she remembered the details before reporting it, so her case was stronger against him. Lucky for her, he'd idiotically filed a violence complaint against her. He was sentenced to maintenance service for three months, the standard punishment.

The second attempt was only a couple months later, but this time she was genuinely afraid. He was a very built man, as well as tall. "Forget whatever man you're off to tonight, minx, you're mine." He surprised her as she was passing a hallway.

"Get away! I'm no minx, you creep! I'm not even an adult yet."

"Doesn't matter to me, a pretty girl wandering around at night; you're all fair game in my eyes. Not like you'd be the first."

"You're disgusting," she shouted before he pulled her closer to him. She resisted, but he had more than twice her strength. One hand squeezed her throat after she tried to scream, and the other made its way to her left thigh.

"Hey!" came a shout from down the hall.

"Yeah, what of it, boy," the man said. He continued, and she was crying at that point, either from him squeezing her throat to the point she could barely breathe, or her fear over what she knew was about to happen.

Suddenly, he let go and she dropped to the floor. The person who shouted was familiar, her track partner, Jake. He stayed longer than her that day and must have only now been on his way back. She looked around but the man was gone, and her rescuer helped her to her feet as she regained focus. "Wha—"

"My uncle's chief of security. Nobody messes with me here," he said. "So I guess nobody messes with you now, either." He helped her to the trauma centre, and they both described the man. She was checked out by the doctor on duty and had minor bruising from strangulation, but would recover physically in a matter of days. He recommended she take an emotional evaluation, but she passed on it. She didn't feel it would develop into something severe, which ultimately it didn't, after her face was out there on the fleet news broadcast when the man was sentenced. Three months didn't feel like enough this time, but it was standard. He was soon transferred out to another fleet, though, when other people reported issues with him. After he was off-ship for a few weeks, a rape victim who remained anonymous came forward and he was discharged and tried. Some satisfaction came of that, but she still felt more at ease when Jake walked back to the barracks with her.

"I don't always need you to come with me, you know," she told him one day.

"Oh no?" he said joking. "Who would run to your aid were a big scary man attack you?"

"Don't be an asshat," she said. "It was once, and the first time I beat the guy up. I could probably beat you up too, shrimp."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"Prove it!"

"Pilot boxing, this weekend. We're doing this. Can't back out now, pretty boy." And sure enough, she beat him senseless. Senseless in the sense that he was ridiculous for not forfeiting before a knockout. The ref tried reasoning with him, but he refused. Some stupid idea about Traditionalist honour, where he wouldn't back down until defeated. It wasn't even the right interpretation, as his uncle later told him, having watched the fight. So she gave him a knockout blow to avoid having to further embarrass him. "It was for your own good," she later told him.

Weekend pilot boxing was the ship's pastime, and became one she participated in frequently, both to make a title for herself and to help Jake get less sexist haggling from the other guys their age. At some point, over half of them had been "beaten by a girl", as they'd say. She rose in boxing rank at roughly a similar rate she rose in pilot rankings, as a matter of fact. Her rematch with Jake went pretty similar to the first time, but this time he accepted defeat instead of being an idiot.

Once she got her position as leader of Squad Four, she requested Jake to be put in her squadron upon promotion, which of course, he was. Generally pilots who do well get what they ask if it's not too inconvenient, since they're the ones who know who they work well together with and who they don't. And swapping someone into another squad is much easier than attitude adjusting if it's only a problem between two people.

Now, she wasn't a pilot anymore. Not officially, at least. Assessments would happen at the next spaceport or planet, and depending on her attitude then, she could be given an ok to fly, or she could be removed from the fleet entirely and sent home as a temporary leave, which didn't sound so bad to her either considering how long it had been.

A news headline caught her eye: "Rebel Fleet Clashes with Empire after Controversial LM-27 Bombing" She immediately clicked on the link to watch the broadcast.

"LM-27 is an F-class star far in the outer-rim, beyond the Great Wastelands. The rebel fleet has claimed without evidence that the planet orbiting that was used in the test was in fact populated. The Emperor confirmed the incident as a test of a new weapon being developed called an Atmospheric Deprivation Device.

"The lead researchers of the project claimed that the planet was nearing the end of its lifespan, and claimed that any life remaining would be simplistic in nature, limited to plant species or possibly small animals, but nothing complex had been detected by scanners prior to testing. It had been looked at as one potential candidate among many, and was chosen due to its remote location as well as the age of the star in question. The advisory stated that any life on the surface would be doomed to a slow extinction over the next thousand years as the star heated up and pushed the ring of viability further outward in the system. The same process will happen to Hiigara's own sun, but not for another million or so years.

"The rebellion's unsubstantiated claims have been refuted, and once the fleet sent out returns to Hiigara, they will corroborate the story. Until then, we have our Emperor's word against rebel claims."

She dropped the tablet onto the sheets in awe, unable to process how they planned to keep everyone in the fleet from speaking about the atrocities that happened on their return, and a thought disturbed her.

There was no return plan.


	14. Another Brick In The Wall

ERIC

The third day's gathering had changed from the previous ones. There were significantly less people there, and there was no need to meet up in the hangar bay. Instead, a room was booked for the couple hours it would take. He took a seat in the second row; it seemed he was one of the first ones there.

"Rumours are going around that there's a Gaalsien onboard," he overheard from behind.

"So I've read," another replied.

"Is it any good?"

"Yeah, actually. I don't know what it's supposed to be, exactly. Stories, probably old ones."

"Can the Gaalsien be trusted, do you think?"

"Don't ask me, man, I just do what I'm told and hope things don't get any worse than they already are."

"I hear you there."

Eric had done more writing, and he overheard conversations about the short bit he had distributed. It came as a surprise, really. He also figured people wanted a distraction, and any would do. He just so happened to provide one at the right time.

Isabella Manaan entered the room and set up at the front. She was shuffling through several pages, seeming lost. She yawned, and sat down to read for the next ten minutes until more filled the room. "Mark's gonna be skipping out today, asked me to cover for him. Not much to do anyway, I have your squadron assignments and results from the short test you all took yesterday. Good to get that out of the way quickly."

His desk's screen got a ping and he checked his results. Impressed with it, he felt more confident about this whim to join the pilots. He was assigned to Mark's squadron, only under his first name which came as a relief. There was another Manaan, Carol, and Henry Kaalel.

"Carol, Eric, and Henry are with Mark and I in Red Squad. Jerry's in charge of Blue Squad, Farida's heading Green Squad."

The file had the lists. He knew none of them, but he knew Jeroll Sjet was a renowned pilot, As for Farida Manaan, she was from a southern tribe who often traded with the Paktu over the sea by airplane.

"Three interceptor squadrons. All but three Arrows were scrapped because of how ineffective they were in combat. Good for running away, but we won't be doing that, now will we? So, What I'd like you all to do for the next twenty minutes is to group up and talk amongst yourselves."

He got up and walked to the front. "Name's Eric, hello," he said to Carol and Henry.

"Not to be rude, but isn't it kind of against the unofficial code to fraternize with fellow pilots, for obvious emotional implications?" asked Carol.

"It is, but there aren't that many of us left. It worked on Kharak where we were pawns to be replaced at need, but now we're the primary line of defence. Those onboard rely on us to protect them, however we can."

Eric nodded. "Feel like filling us in to why Mark's not here?"

"Personal troubles, he'll get over it. This week's been hard on all of us."

"Inspiring confidence already," he said.

"We're only kushan," Henry added.

"Besides, there's not much that I actually have to do today," she added. "You have your squads, you're among the fifteen picked so far, meaning you're either the most qualified, or the quickest learners. Leonard's looking into any former pilots among Mothership crew members, but it will take time. We don't have time."

"Not to mention Khar-Selim and the loss that went with it," Henry said. The majority of the police force and military officers were onboard the support vessel in a joint exercise between the Sjet, Soban, and Nabaal. The crew would have to work to establish the viability of long-term space travel and the effects of this on physical and mental health. While there were military personnel onboard, it was nowhere near the amount that would have otherwise been present would everything had gone as planned. If a riot broke out now, it was unlikely there were enough officers to stop it. The fate of their people truly was up to each and every one of those remaining.

"Say we did have the support vessel's crew, what effect would that have had on pilot support?" Carol asked.

Henry answered: "Not much, honestly. From what I've gathered, it had no pilots onboard, because there wasn't a hangar to launch fighters, so why bother with one? Scaffold had most of our pilots and a significant number of officers still onboard. Most essential crews transferred over before initial launch, but as there was no guarantee the jump would succeed, not everyone was put onboard right away. I mean, the main sunlights aren't even online, for Sajuuk's sake. The ship can jump but it can't walk, and who knows what other systems are in need of a tune up after the few jumps we've made already."

"You sure know a lot about this," Isabella said.

"My cousin and sister are scientists onboard," he said. "Research never interested me. Science is cool, but math isn't my thing. Besides, we've got enough Sjet onboard to handle it."

"I've always wondered if Karan can actually feel the ship, you know? Or if she's listening to everyone onboard. I wonder what it's like to her."

"That part I couldn't tell you, only she would know."

They talked about where they were from, stories of their past, and Eric simply listened. He hadn't a thing to share with these people, or he felt there was no way he could. Isabella noticed and gave him a look, but didn't ask him to share.

It was Carol who asked him first. "So Eric, what did you do before all this?"

"Well, I'm the garbage man, if you want it simple. I get access to more floors of the ship than most, but trust me, there's nothing interesting on those floors. Mainly it's so nobody breaks anything important that they're not trained to operate."

"No, I mean before that, before Mothership."

"Scaffold is where I've lived for the past couple years, didn't do much there either, it's really kinda boring, if I'm being honest," he said. "And before that's more of the same." He didn't feel up to sharing that he'd move and refuel fighter jets for terrorist organizations.

He took his seat after the twenty minutes were up, and the Manaan girl continued with her lecture plan. She went over some basics, projected a cockpit in the middle of the room and made sure they knew at least the important components, then worked up to more complicated controls. She explained them more based on how many could answer her, adding in comments as to whether or not it was important to remember or not. Most weren't, but often some were. Engine controls, for example, were abundant. The torch drive that the small fighters used was experimental. If they didn't understand specific warning lights, their ships could explode. Nine emitters functioning in parallel of three per fuel line. If an emitter got too much energy, it could burn out. If it didn't get enough, it meant a possible buildup inside the ship, and it could blow up. He grasped the basic concept of it all, it wasn't as simple as jet fuel.

Some systems, like sensors, weren't that important to keep a constant eye on, because if one interceptor's sensors were busted it would still receive information from its neighbours at short range. Generally the ship is designed to tell its pilot when something is wrong, it was only up to understanding what the warnings meant. As in when to cut out a fuel line and slow down, or when to perform emergency burns to vent out excess buildup in the lines.

"You're a meat bag strapped to a fusion reactor and a real big gun. Your ship is pressurized and has life support but your helmet and suit work as failsafes, therefore, not a primary system. Engines, weapons, and inertial dampeners. Everyone's gonna want or need to make those sharp maneuvers that, were it in an atmosphere, would rip your craft and yourself to pieces. The dampeners keep you—the meat bag—from becoming a pile of mush."

She went on with a brief description of the software on the ship and how to modify the HUD to their preference, and concluded with that. "We drop out of hyperspace in two days, be prepared. We'll be in the hangar again tomorrow and the day after to familiarize you with your ships." He got up after most had left, but she stopped him. "Eric, wait up."

The room emptied, and she shut the door. Going back to her bag, she took out a booklet. "This is you, isn't it?" She handed him a copy of his first print out. He had distributed a few dozen more copies around after the first run.

"Do you know of any other Gaalsien onboard, because I don't."

"It's good. Great, actually."

"I have a vivid memory," he said.

"I've kept a few old tales of my own, if you were interested. Nothing special, only short ones I liked enough to note down."

"Yeah, actually." Smiling, he asked her if she could send it to him as soon as she could.

"Let's go get 'em then. You know where I live. Also, you saw nothing that day, clear?"

He shrugged. "It's not my business or my interest who's involved with who."

"We're not—I mean, it's complicated."

"Still don't care," he said.

They left the room heading to an elevator. Two floors after they got on, to their surprise, Jasiid found them. "Well this is strange," he said. "What's going on, Izzy!" he said giving her a hug broken by her pushing him away annoyed.

"Hi there, Jay. How've you been holding up, clearly no different than the usual," she said.

"Well, I try not to feel down. Doesn't help me or anyone around me, so why bother? Besides, I've had nothing for a long time I still have more now than I did before, so I guess I have nothing to be grieving over." He admired his high spirit. He hadn't seen him since their run-in.

"Eric, was it? How'd you go about meeting this short bundle of crazy?"

"Uh, I'm in training to be a pilot in her squadron," he said confused. He was unaware the two knew each other, but he wasn't paying attention to begin with either.

"He's Mark's second wingman. Just finished up a meeting with the pilots for the three squads that we have so far," she said.

"Huh, well, congratulations! I've got my own ship. I don't believe I've mentioned this, but I'm a pilot on a Porter. It's a sturdy box of a craft, that's for sure. Listen, I'd love to stay and hang out, but I'm on my way to meet up with my engineer, Bradley. Nice guy, should meet him sometime. I'll see you around," he said getting off.

"Where'd you—"

"On Scaffold before boarding. Barely know him, he seems rather upbeat."

"He's also made it his job to out-annoy me. So far, he's winning."

They didn't spend long in her room; she got what she needed and followed him.

"Mark's been in a rough mood today, best not to wake him up."

He opened the door, and immediately was hit with the smell of printer ink, having been printing out more copies. "I really should start printing out download cards instead," he said. She nodded, taking a seat at his desk. It took her only a few seconds to copy over the file. "Technological convenience. It's still fascinating to me, but that's probably from growing up in a desert. Very low-tech."

"Hey, don't forget where I'm from, you know. None of this crap works out in the sand seas. Dirt and dust would get into everything eventually. Most of the broken tech we'd auction off to scrappers when we went north."

"Hot sand to cold steel. I'm still not used to the shift," he admitted. The internal climate was regulated far cooler than he was used to.

"I wish I could find a way to turn my floor into a heated sandbox. I think I'll petition for it."

He opened up the file once she gave up the chair. She took a bundle of pages to read on his bed as he worked. It was fascinating, a few of the stories were almost identical to ones he'd heard before. "I can use this," he said more to himself than to her. "So familiar."

"We occasionally picked up a few Gaalsien over the years. They came and went, brought with them stories and wisdom. You know, the old types who never shut up about their past. Most never paid attention to them, but once you did, man did you learn." Lost in thought, she seemed to daydream of it. "What's the one thing you would want to have from Kharak?"

He started, but stopped to think about it. "The contents of Saju-Ka's library before it was destroyed, I'd even settle for excavated scraps, really."

"I met an old woman once, said she had been there. Didn't believe her though, the place is a legend."

"Believe it. It was my home for thirteen years. Thousands died, including my parents."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be, it was ages ago. It's Mark I'd have a problem with, if anyone. I don't, of course, but his father…"

"I've heard Gaalsien talk about him many times before."

"I think the figure thrown around is fifteen thousand. He's responsible for fifteen thousand Gaalsien deaths. It's hard to forgive that, no matter what your clan allegiance is like." She nodded.

"Mark's not his father," she said.

"I know that, it's just not that easy to move past, but I'll get there. I respect him a great deal based on what I've heard since this all began."

It was a quiet afternoon for them, she read silently as he continued to write. And whether he wanted one or not, he had a friend now.


	15. Start With Today

ISABELLA

Her alarm rang for the third time before she decided to join the land of the conscious. She decided the snooze button wasn't much help to her morning routine. Showers helped more, and decided to go for an extra long one to set her thoughts in order. "One week," she said to herself. Seven days ago, Mothership launched. Seven days ago, she almost died to an unknown alien race in the outer Kharak System. Seven days ago, her entire life changed as did that of everyone else on the ship. It took some time but it finally started feeling like reality to her. Accepting what had happened was not easy for anyone onboard; that became more evident as the days passed.

She knocked on Mark's door twice before walking in. It wasn't locked. She figured fair game. "Hey, wakey, wakey sunshine!" He didn't respond. He hadn't been doing well emotionally, and asked her to handle the lecture from the day before. She wanted to, so he got no complaints from her. However, today was different. She smacked his face which woke him up immediately. "Got shit to do today, remember?" His response was an incomprehensible grumble, but better than nothing. He got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom without saying a word to her. "I'll be in the mess hall," she said. "You're welcome!"

She remembered the last time she closed his door. Three days had passed and the two of them hadn't talked about it. Exploring her sexuality meant little more than recreation, but he was not Manaan. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about what happened. Dwelling on it would get her nowhere, so with a sigh she left. Things would sort themselves out one way or another as they tend to.

She ran into Jasiid on her way. She saw him from down the hall, and he waved her over. He woke up at reasonable hours like her and it wasn't the first time they had breakfast together that week. "Two days in a row? Small world."

"A whole two kilometres tall, go figure!"

He ignored the sarcasm. "So, what's up today?"

"Back to the hangar for us, last day inside. Tomorrow's all outside."

"Oh yeah, we drop out, right?"

"Yup! Can't wait, personally. It'll give me something to do." Time spent idly meant time to think, and thinking was something she would rather not do.

"Think they're all ready?"

"Sure, I mean it's not like they're complete incompetents after all. Most of the others who tested out the scouts are there, a few others who've had minimal microgravity flight experience, all that. Leo's hopefully gonna find an actual trainer at some point."

Once they sat down with their food, Mark walked in. "Morning," he said passing by to get something to eat.

"Is he alright?" Jasiid asked.

"Not sure," she said. "He will be, at least I hope so." She watched him until he made his way over to them, taking a seat next to Jasiid. "Nice of you to show up."

"I did get a wake up call, didn't I?"

The three of them sat in silence. Jasiid started recounting a story of their time together in flight academy, but she was only half paying attention to it. Mark smiled, remembering the past they'd shared. It hit her just then that she was alone, they all were. They were alone together, but she had nobody from before. No family, no former friends, no one who even knew of her. All of them gone. She suddenly understood how Mark felt. Even he had somebody, though.

"Hey, Izzy, you awake in there?" asked Jasiid.

"Huh? Yeah, just spaced out for a bit." She chased the thoughts away. It was best to let go of what was already lost.

Mark, Eric and her exit the elevator to the service hangar floor. Leonard was already there along with several of the other pilots. The schedule for today was to run simulations on how the five squadron pilots work with each other. Five interceptors were lined up on the deck. The squadrons would go one after the other.

"Nervous?" Mark asked.

"A bit, but where would the fun be otherwise?"

"I for one am not looking forward to this," Eric said.

"You'll do fine," she said. "It's not like replacing any of us is an option at this point. Do as bad as you want."

They joined the other pilots and Leonard addressed them once everyone was present. "You fifteen pilots are the first line of defence to our people. Not all of you are qualified for the task, granted, but I trust that after today we will know for sure whether or not you're all ready. The five interceptors are locked in simulation mode, and we will be providing battle scenarios for you and will track your responses. Red Squad, you're up first."

The rest of the pilots looked at him, and he nodded. It was clear who they saw as their leader and who they saw as their boss. She of all people knew the difference between the two.

They each got into their ships and started them up. She knew the controls like second nature. Despite being in simulation mode, the sounds and vibrations mimicked the real thing.

"Red Leader signing on," Mark said.

"Red Two here," she said. Eric, Carol and Henry sounded off their designations too. Her screen pinged to let her know Mark decided to set to a delta formation in defensive tactics. She shifted back, and doing so the screen showed his ship to the front-left of her. Even their ship's display was hacked to give them a show.

"So, any idea what's going to happen?" Eric asked.

Mark answered: "None, sorry. They didn't tell me, so just go with it."

They idled around for a while, long enough for her to get bored and slump back into her chair. She assumed it was to let them habituate. She wanted to complain, but held it in as it was time to act the part.

"Contacts closing in with Mothership," Intel said. She immediately pulled her self up to the controls ready to act.

"Ship markings appear to be Taiidan, we're clear to engage." She followed his lead, the other three did the same. The first pass got them two enemy ships.

"I'm hit!" Eric said. The sim was advanced, it even faked enemy fire hitting the hull.

"Prepare for second pass. Fire on their middle ranks, try to break up the formation." She got one of them and rolled down out of the line of fire. Carol followed her move saving her ship. They formed back up after the pass. On the HUD she could see Eric's ship had taken the most damage so far and hull integrity was at half.

"We've got a tail," Henry said.

"Evasive!" Mark called out.

"Maneuver four-five-oh?" Carol called out.

"Rodger," said Mark.

Henry and Carol cut back and fired on the follower, taking him out.

"Above!" she called out. A second squadron came in from above them. They pulled up, avoiding enemy fire in the process.

Eric said, "Docking with repair corvette, I've taken too many hits."

"Rodger that, let's circle and keep guard in the meantime." The enemies were cutting them a break it seemed, since they didn't attack while this went down.

"Mothership taking enemy fire," Command's voice called out.

"Shit!" They sped off and fired on the assailants, drawing their attention away. The dogfight continued on for a half hour. They all had to take turns docking with a repair ship. A support frigate was available to them, and it saved them after a real bad pass that left them all critically damaged.

"Two squads coming up from behind, evasive again and split. I'll go up, you and Carol try to drop down and meet up behind them." She saw what he was getting at, and followed along. She pulled down as he went the opposite way, and Carol followed her. The others followed Mark, and it worked. Meeting up behind them, they opened fire. Despite this, however, they weren't out of it yet.

"Third squadron behind us! How many are there?" Henry said before his ship took too much damage. They pulled hard to the right, but couldn't shake them. The other two squadrons had come back around, and Carol was next to go, followed by Mark.

"Shit, shit, shit! Split up and head back to the support frigate," she told Eric. This worked for the time being, but they didn't last much longer. They were two against a dozen, and went down one by one but not without taking out a couple in the meantime. Upon her ship blowing up, she palmed her face with both hands taking off her helmet and opening up the hatch. The hangar's teal light reminded her that it was bound to end one way or another.

"Hey," she called over after powering down, "you all alright?"

"Could have gone worse," Eric said.

Mark said, "Good fight, team."

They were met with applause after stepping out onto the hangar deck. "Impressive work, Red Squad. No spoiling it for the rest, they have no idea what they're in for. Come with me," Leonard said to them. Green Squad was up next. They walked away from the others to discuss. "To be honest, I didn't expect you all to last half as long so good work. Eric performed a lot better than we anticipated based on his lack of experience."

"I'm calling it luck, mostly."

"Don't be modest, now. You kept up easily enough. Even gave you a false engine alarm. Good work checking the fuel line pressure. Carol and Henry performed marginally above what we anticipated too, all good to see. Mark, no surprise with these results. Still caught you off-guard at the end though."

"Yes, well in a real battle we would have allies to support us. Can't take on three enemy squadrons with five ships no matter how good you are."

"Fair enough. It was designed to be unfair anyway. As for you, Isabella, work on controlling your emotions in combat. Blood pressure readings weren't ideal, but other than that, same goes for your performance."

"In her defence, sir, her last experience was quite traumatic. Cut her some slack, she still outlasted me." He ignored the comment and signalled them to return to the group. He had the next simulation to conduct.

Mark and her waited a few moments. "Thanks," she said.

"What kind of squad leader would I be if I didn't stick up for my wingmen?"

"I should still up my medication dosage. I felt…"

He nodded.

She lay beside him considering whether or not to leave or stay the night again. He pulled his fingers through her sweaty hair. "What are we doing?" she said. "Honestly. Is it right? Technically you're not my superior, so there's no problems there, but still."

"So you regret it then?"

"No, not exactly."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"And during the act, are you thinking of her?" He pulled his hand away. "Because if so, then I'd like to remind you I'm not her, and it's not fair to me if you are."

"I don't know what I'm doing, if you want to be honest about it. I really don't. Yes, the love of my life died only a week ago along with over three hundred and eighty million others. It still hardly feels real sometimes, but I know it is, and I know she's never coming back. I'm not pretending you're her, Isel. I'll admit it, this isn't the smartest decision I've made, but I never said I was always smart." He grabbed her hand.

"Yeah, we're pretty stupid aren't we?" she said. "I lost everyone too, you know. Whether I gave up my Kharak life or not, I still lost them."

"I know. We'll see how this plays out. Deal?"

"Deal." She nestled against him and made up her mind.


	16. Bright Lights

MARK

Ending off the first week of their trip, it was the day they would exit hyperspace. He noticed how slow time passed for him now as opposed to before any of the chaos. A week on the outskirts of Tiir went by like a breeze. With all that's been flashing through his mind now, he hardly ever had a moment to relax and enjoy what he could out of his time. Isabella provided some much needed temporary relief, but he knew she was mostly having fun. It wasn't serious.

Often he thought back to Valerie but doing so was usually followed by an eruption into sobbing and tears and an afternoon locked away in his room answering to no one. He had Isabella teach one of the lessons for him on such a day. He could still imagine her voice, he could still picture her face. Her soft brown hair, her hazel irises rimmed with green. Nothing could bring her back, he knew this. He felt guilty of being unfaithful, but the girl he loved was no longer alive. He tried hard not to think of things that have passed but grief was a natural response to loss, and hard to control. His father must have known this feeling for a long time. He began to understand him more now than ever.

He wanted him around. If he'd joined the fighter testing with him like he was asked, he would be among the survivors. It was not profitable to think in what-ifs, he knew that. He felt unworthy to take on this role he'd begun filling, having been given Squad Leader status before the others only because he was unfortunate enough to be outside the ship when the Raiders ambushed. He'd learned much from his father, but he still felt as though his father could do better. He wanted him here, to talk to, to ask how to proceed, seek advice, have a drink with, the reasons he missed Markus the Great went on. Being honest with himself, he wanted his father back. He wanted his father's support and his love. Therefore, thinking of him proved unprofitable as well thus continuing the cycle.

He took a shower to clear his mind and focus. There were more pressing matters. The pilots he'd been training, for instance. A few picked up quick, others not so much. He wanted to see what Eric could do, him having no official ranking position. They took the fighter over to the Capital bay and turned on the lights. There was room enough for a fighter to maneuver around. He did well, scoring higher in some areas than rank fives and some sixes, but still ranking lower in others like pitch control. His aim was adequate, and his reflexes were sharp. The group of his new friends set up a paintball gun to show how well he dodged and only a few hit. At the end of two days, he signed him on as his second wingman. Isel gave him an over the top annoying hug to congratulate him, as is her usual style.

Today was the day they would prove themselves, should anything go wrong. With this mission's track record, he was sure something would. Anything could happen now.

Leo was going to give them a speech. All combat ready pilots gathered in an auditorium just before Mothership was to exit hyperspace within the hour. They were already in their flight suits. Mark looked around at the other squad leaders: Jeroll Sjet of Blue Squad, Reina Manaan of Green Squad, and Kyle LiirHra of Orange Squad. Their uniforms were only slightly different from one another. All three of them had more combat experience and were older than himself, however, none questioned when he was offered the role of Red Leader; he proved himself against the invaders. According to rumour, there was a ranking up awaiting him once the chaos died down. Too little time for formalities that first week.

"You fifteen pilots are our front line of defence. This role is a great honour in my opinion. Supporting you are five Hammers and four Mercy docks," he began. They all knew the codenames for unit classes at this point, a Hammer was a heavy corvette like the ones that came to his aid in the previous battle and a Mercy was a repair corvette—a small support craft designed to dock one fighter at a time and repair larger craft. "Three enemy ships have been captured from the Cryo Tray assault and have been put back in service with a new paint job. The nerds say we can build our own frigate-class vessels now, so some will be joining you out there to lend a hand if need be. This ship," he said activating a holo for us to see, "is a support frigate. We call her the Matriarch. Docks ten at a time, crew compliment is about three-dozen. These ships are your best friends. Stay within range of one and you'll live to fight another day."

He marvelled at the design. Five dock pads on each side along the main body and corvette dock arms on the bottom, a shielding hull extension over topside, a single gun under the bow's nose, and had an improved repair beam several times better than the Mercy. The bridge was aft-ward on top of the main body, and the engine was a single vertical row of fusion torches. He had to admit, the Nabaali knew what they were doing when designing it.

"We're not expecting to run into any trouble with this resourcing stop, but we really don't have a clue what to expect. Be on guard out there, and good luck." This concluded the meeting.

Mark looked back to his squad members who were getting out of their seats and it finally sunk in. He was in command of these four, he would likely lead them into danger and they would follow. He would be responsible for anything that happens to them, and it was frightening to consider. Isabella and Carol were laughing over something between them, Eric sat scribbling into a notepad and Henry was staring in wonder at the holo of the Matriarch still present above them. These people depended on him outside in the vacuum of interstellar space, and he hoped not to fail them.

"Hey, what's up with that stare?" Jeroll asked tapping his shoulder.

"Lost in thought is all," he said. "Never been in command of anyone."

"Don't sweat it. They already respect you, so the hard part's over with. Trust me, I've seen how your makeshift training lessons went. The younger one in particular seems to admire you."

"Izzy's a little on the crazy side, but she's effective. I've seen her against the Raiders and was impressed to find out it was the first time she'd been in combat."

"What of the other one there," he said pointing to Eric. "Awful quiet, any particular reason you chose him?"

"Gut feeling. He's not been officially trained as a pilot but he's been in combat, and he knows the inside of a strike fighter better than I do, probably." He would keep Eric's heritage secret for now, it was the courteous thing to do. Many would find it suspicious for a Gaalsi to be onboard. Despite the conflict with the defunct Northern Coalition long over with, many kiith still harbour ill sentiment towards his people, almost as much so as the treacherous Siidim.

Both were barred from having members selected for colonization heightening tensions with the Siidim towards the end of the construction process. Siidim-sa had to be removed from the Daiamid meeting upon hearing the decision, outraged and yelling slurs to the other Sas present, calling them all gritiidim. It had only been twenty years since their exile had been deemed over and right back to their callous ways they went. Whenever Eric decided to reveal his kiith affiliation with others was up to him alone.

The Mothership dropped out of hyperspace.

Jeroll joined the rest of Blue Squad and left for the hangar. Isabella was waiting on me now, and I joined her and the others as we too headed to the hangar. This time, the hangar was in full production mode, meaning the fighters were up in their storage racks and the artificial gravity was at a minimum. They magnetized their boots upon stepping out onto the hangar floor.

All walls of the hangar had a gravitational attraction to facilitate operations inside. All his time so far had been spent in the supply bay which only has an attraction on the base, mimicking a floor. Now, in the open bay expanding for over half a kilometre towards the bottom-end, all walls were also floors. Fighters were stored in their racks along the top of the hangar while corvettes were stored along the aft wall. Or floor. It confused him to think about. And lastly, all the way towards the bottom wall of the hangar was fabrication. He saw the outline of a frigate already under construction.

He climbed into his ship, the same fighter he used before, and turned on the engine. When the light turned green, it was his turn to launch. He throttled up and sailed down the teal-lit bay, pulling up and out the hangar door into the black void. He moved his ship over to the line of other interceptors assuming parade formation. His HUD had already been calibrated for the other ships, displaying their squad colour and number in it, leaders having a star. He performed system checks out of habit while waiting for the hangar to empty out.

"It's so dark," Isel said over the comm.

"Closest star is half a light-years away, so yeah, it would be," Henry said.

"Then what's the story behind this asteroid cluster?" Carol said.

"I looked it up earlier," he replied. "Some ejected debris from a planet forming system nearby. There's likely to be more, that's why the Sjet are searching in case we need to stop somewhere again."

"Interesting," Eric said.

He noticed ahead of them the resource collectors already heading off to do their work escorted by two light corvettes each. Cavaliers were considered useless for actual combat scenarios. They have one gun turret, don't have the armour of other corvettes, and are much slower than fighters despite being barely larger than one. Instead they've been delegated to escort duty for resource operations.

A larger ship finished exiting the capital bay and was now following the collectors. The HUD revealed it to be the mobile refinery. Mostly crewed by Somtaaw, it would act as the resource controller and flagship for mining operations. It had six fighter docking pads and two corvette arms to help support its escorts. He knew very little about the Somtaaw, but knew that they were in control of resourcing operations and processing as well as being the most independent of any clan in the fleet.

Not much time passed before the alert light flashed on his dash. "Long range sensors indicate a mothership-class mass signature. It's closing in fast," said Leonard. The words took time to register in his mind, then he felt what he'd describe as a combination of anticipation and concern rush through him.

"Stay calm," he said over Red Squad's private channel.

A yellow doorway cut through the fabric of space ahead. He'd expected possibly the Taiidan fleet, or even the pirates from the outer Kharak system. It was neither. A large vessel tan in colour exit through the doorway. The designed looked like none they'd encountered before. It turned to face the Mothership, revealing it to be a U shape with a bright city of yellow lights covering its interior. He was in awe by the sight, and assumed the others were as well by the silence over the radio bands. Were they friend or foe? How did they find them? They were not attacking, therefore no attack order was given by Command.

"Full combat alert, standby for contact." The squads broke into their separate delta formations but remained passive. A standard procedure, one of the few he had covered in his brief training sessions.

He looked back to the hangar and saw the ambassador craft launch. It was a modified unarmed heavy corvette.

"Ambassador away," Karan's voice echoed over the speakers. Her voice had a calming charm to it, unlike Leonard's.

"Trajectory locked in, hailing signal open on all channels." The ambassador ship moved closer to the odd alien ship keeping a safe speed and breaking occasionally to ensure the other ship that it would not collide. "Entering magnetic field now. Almost there…" It was now within the narrow trench lit up by the city lights. "Fleet, we've lost guidance and are being drawn in. There's a lot of lights… uh… there seems to be some kind of activity inside, I can see—" his signal cut out. He and the rest of the fleet waited patiently, unknowing, unsure.

A short moment later a signal was received from the alien ship itself. "We are the Bentusi and welcome you among space-fairing cultures. The Unbound. The outer-rim trade routes were established in the First Time by our ancestors. The resources you gather are of value to the Bentusi Exchange. They will serve as an acceptable medium for trade." He stared blankly ahead, his mouth hanging open a little, unsure how to process the situation. "It has been our custom to equip our partners with an exchange unit. It has therefore been provided to your ambassador as a gesture of good will." The craft now launched from the alien vessel.

"Fleet, this is the ambassador. We are clear of the Bentusi vessel, all systems are green. Harbour control has released guidance and the exchange unit is secure. Receiving crews, prep the quarantine chamber."

"Roger that, quarantine chambers standing by."

As they waited for more information, he sat in his seat wondering how vast the galaxy must be. How many factions were there to consider other than the ones they've met? How many were hostile, and how many of them would they encounter?

"Bentusi trade link established," Karan's voice said breaking the silence.

"Turanic Raiders, servants of the Taiidan are arriving. They must not learn of our contact. We must depart. All that moves is easily heard in the void. We will listen for you. Farewell." As sudden as was their arrival, just so could be said for their departure. They vanished into the yellow doorway.


	17. The Great Wastelands

ERIC

The comms were dead for ten minutes other than Karan and the Bentusi; the ambassador hauled a resource container behind it back to the alien ship and returned. Eric didn't know what they had obtained from them, but imagined whatever it was to have great power. They left in a door of yellow much the same as their own hyperspace window.

Being told of the Turanic Raiders' imminent arrival, all squadrons were ordered over to defend the resourcing operation several kilometres away. A few probes sped by ahead of them. Watching, he noticed how much their surroundings had changed. No longer could Kharak's sun be distinguished in the sky, and the galactic band was the only light from outside his canopy.

"Keep a clear mind and remember what you've been told in training," Mark said. "Fear will kill you as will hesitation. That isn't to say you're immune to either, but keep it in mind and you'll have better chance to control yourself in the heat of things." It was as much reassuring he was going to get that day.

They circled the Redemption-class refinery ship a handful of times before the first red blip was spotted on their sensors manager screen. The formations tightened up, and the one was followed by a dozen more once they came into sensors range.

"There they are," Isabela said, "topside."

He saw. The probes detailed them out to be the same pirate ships he saw the pilots fighting in the outer Kharak system. He was only an observer then, and they were unprepared. This time, however, the fleet was ready for battle and he would take part. All aboard the colony ship had witnessed the death of family and kin. Fuelled by anger. Anyone in their path would suffer the fate of Kharak.

"Follow Green Squad close, we're gonna back them up and give 'em time to move in for a second run," Mark said and he followed. It happened quick. The run before theirs had damaged the enemy ships and Red Squad, his squad, came in to rain more fire on them and knock a few off from the main cluster. Green Squad made their second pass and finished off the group that broke away. The other squads came in to take aim from below at the remaining stragglers.

"More incoming," Reina Manaan warned before two more waves appeared on sensors. These backed by five missile corvettes.

"They sure don't seem to be making this easy for us," Isabella said. "Five Brigands, we'll have to let the assault frigates deal with those, we wouldn't hit 'em hard enough to have an effect."

"Agreed," Mark said. "Did they ever put a codename to them? I didn't catch one."

"Kudaark," Jeroll S'jet says as his squad passes by.

Eric said, "I can kinda see it." Kuudarks were small burrowing animals with tough claws and a spine along its nose. The frigate had some physical similarities in the hull shape, its guns imitating the claws and the spire at the bow reminded him of how they tested the temperature above ground with their nose hairs.

Heavy corvettes singled Red Squad to mind their path, and let their rounds go taking out a few of the Bandits incoming. His squad's next pass spit more at them, Blue Squad coming in from above to follow up on their run.

He hadn't felt like this in a long time. In fact, only once before was he ever in combat and it was as auxiliary pilot on an old Bokiir unit. The bomber was nearly a century old at the time but still held its own in battle. That was more passive. This was something new. The rush of adrenaline, the powerful feeling of being in control of an autogun that could fire thousands of rounds a minute into the enemy. His blood was pumping, and he felt focused on the fight. He didn't feel the slightest bit afraid. Maybe it was his upbringing, the countless months servicing fighters for his kiith before defecting to the Manaan. He keeps up with the squad's movements as if it were natural to him.

The lack of atmosphere to bank in made space combat awkward for trained pilots. The maneuvering jets in front shot hard to one side flipping the ship around. Eric took to it almost as well as Mark and Isabella did, as he didn't have any previous training to unlearn.

"Reinforcements are on their way." Three of their own frigates were inbound from Mothership, a Matriarch and two other shorter ones he assumed were their equivalent of assault frigates.

The tree Kuudarks fired from below but kept in tight guard around the resource controller. The collectors were escorted by two light corvettes each. Their guns did little damage but enough to dissuade any lone enemy fighters from taking shots at the defenceless Providence-class as they went about their duties.

A slug from a Hammer knocked one of the missile corvettes into an asteroid and it blew up on impact. "That was comical," the pilot said.

Before he could react Mark yelled into the squad channel: "Henry, evasive maneuvers! Drop back and take 'em out!" He and Isabella cut their engines and thrust the forward jets and let the enemy fighters pass by as instructed, one of the few tactics they managed to cover. Mark and Carol stayed in formation drawing their attention. They opened fire on the ones still tailing Henry and one exploded. He didn't evade the debris fast enough and flew through, hearing everything that hit his ship as if it were the loudest noise in the universe. They kept firing taking out another, but it was too late, Henry's ship took too much damage and the fuel cells were punctured.

"Shit!" she said taking out a third. She swore a few more times, defeated and restraining anger. Eric barely knew him, but it still had an effect. He kept in control and the two of them moved back into formation.

Out of the confusion following their lost squad member, a missile slammed into the back of Red Leader. "I'm hit! How bad does it look?"

"Well, it doesn't look good," he answered.

"It did a number, you're leaking fuel meaning a cell is punctured," Isabella said. The two assault frigates passed by overhead giving surprising fire. Though they drifted away from the battlefield, it wasn't an ideal location to be stranded.

"Both rear cameras are out, I'm powering down and calling a salvager. The rest of you dock for repairs and fuel."

"I don't think we should leave you," Isabella said.

"I'll look like debris on their scanners, and from the sound of things in here the ship looks the part too."

Reluctantly, they agreed and the three of them headed to the resource controller to dock. It was farther away from the fight, and a squad was already coming in to dock with the Matriarch. He sat there lost in thought as they closed in on their destination. "I think it's just dawned on me," he said in a private channel to Isabella.

"What has?" she said.

"That this is a war we're in. I mean, I know it should be obvious, right, but I guess it took me being out here doing something about it to… feel it."

Silence for a few seconds, then she said: "I know. We did all we could," referring to their lost squad mate.

"I know. Is it weird that I'm not afraid?"

"A little," inferring that she was feeling the pressure of the fight a lot more than he was, but kept her cool for the sake of him and Carol. He admired that.

"It's okay to be afraid. I've seen a lot worse than this."

"I'm sure you have."

The calm silence continued until they docked, an understanding between them now. Isabella assumed command of Red Squad and two more fighters joined them as Red Four and Red Five. Both of Sobani. They headed out to rejoin the continuing fight; it appeared there was no end to the ships the Turanic could throw at them but they held their own. The enemy had more ships but they had more skill. Considering most of them were new to piloting space fighters, that was saying something profound about the logistics of this pirate fleet. There was hope.

Due to the approaching carrier, the collectors had moved to the bottom half of the resource vein and the controller's escorts joined the Kushan assault frigates in broad formation to lend firepower to the fight. Half a dozen heavy corvettes passed by in X formation, their passes slower but far deadlier than those of interceptor squadrons and their armour able to take the extra hits. Two of the other interceptor squadrons were missing members as well, some more than one. The Matriarch threw green repair material onto damaged frigates, the ships' nano-repair systems to reform it into hull plating. A scout was returning from their search with intel on the enemy carrier's guards and was at full burst speeding above the battlefield hoping no enemies would pay attention to it, but none would be able to catch it at that speed anyway.

Green Squad was undocking from the support frigate and returning to the fight. Isabella signalled Green Leader to follow her pass. She agreed. Backed by nine other fighter pilots, the manaani's leading abilities shined. In the moment, nobody knew her to be a sixteen-year-old foul-mouthed desert rat, but as the person leading them into the fight. He took note of this, and would be sure to mention it to her after the battle.

Seven enemy ships, ten of them. Both headed straight for one another. The targets came in weapons range and he unloaded into them, additional power shunted to weapons. He took a few hits but was otherwise unscathed. Two members of Green Squad were not as well-off, having been picked off by a lucky shot and another having one enemy fighter—possibly unintentionally—slam into them. Neither pilot would survive the collision by the look of the wreckage.

Green Leader spoke next: "Rest of Green Squad, join in with Red in a Claw formation and prepare for another pass!" They listened and took the upper half of the claw, only one fighter shy for the full formation. Isabella took the central-back leader position and he fell to her lower left. Green Leader would be directly above him. Red Four was in front and below him, Carol to his right. They flipped around in unison and prepared for their second pass. He could see Blue Squad taking serious hits from three Brigadier missiles and saw some Bandits take out a heavy corvette. The Kuudarks shot out plasma bombs from their nose cannons into the missile corvettes ending their firing cycle midway through in a puff of light followed by brief flames and ending in smoke and debris. One of the chunks was the cockpit section, and he wondered to himself if those inside would have survived the ship's death only to float around and wait for their end. He showed them mercy by letting off a dozen rounds into the darkened canopy before nudging himself back in formation in time to open fire on their next pass.

Their next victims were a couple corvettes that intel couldn't quite figure out the purpose of and simply labelled them Thief-class. His wingman found out what those guns did. After being hit with a round, it blew up on impact causing the hull to tear open spinning the ship out of control. The pilot ejected before the ship turned into a ball of flame. The rest of them focused their fire on the ships and avoiding taking fire from them. Both fell to their gunfire but not without Green Leader taking a hit from one of those exploding rounds. Damage was not fatal. After the pass she took the remainder of her squad back to the Matriarch for repairs.

Isabella called a salvage corvette to move towards Red Four's location and pick him up. Another duty designated to Porters when not chasing after salvage prey. They were en route to the Matriarch when Fleet Intelligence gave them a confusing transmission.


	18. The Fate Of Kharak

MARK

He made the call, sent his coordinates and powered down. He could see the others speeding away from the battle to the resource controller. From his standpoint the fight looked to be in their favour. More waves kept coming but were held off successfully for now.

Servants of the Taiidan, he recalled. They were responsible for what happened to his home. What purpose could they have? Who were they, these Taiidan? He couldn't understand senseless slaughter on that scale. Surely, he thought, they had some kind of reason. He needed there to be one. If they had a reason he had something to fight against; he could make an enemy out of them. He could comfort himself with them being evil and knowing why so many people had to die.

Valerie came to mind without notice. "She's really gone," he said to himself. He had been with her for only three years, but three was enough to know he loved her. He was about to agree on moving in with her and leave his small desert home, his solitude in the sand, for the comfortable city life of Tiir. He had actively avoided letting thoughts of her come to mind because of his inability to accept or even acknowledge her loss. Dizziness overcame him having again accepted it and upon seeing the chaos unfold. A casualty of a war he knew nothing about and felt he couldn't do anything to stop.

The eerie silence of space crept up to him in his distracted remembrance. All around ships were exploding in flashes of light and smoke, bullets flew by like rain, and everything was in constant motion. No sound; one of the most noticeable of differences from dogfights he was used to. The occasional light tick from small pieces of debris hitting his ship were heard, but otherwise it was entirely silent save the sound of his breathing. A maddening, deafening silence. Knowing how far from Kharak they had gone and knowing how much farther than that there was ahead, he felt laughably small compared to everything else.

He relaxed back into the seat. He'd lost a wingman. He trained Henry along with the others the best he could but it wasn't enough. He didn't blame himself for it, they did all they could. Henry's family was on Kharak, so there were no others to mourn him. A sad thought but it was better than his family waking up on Hiigara to find out he wasn't among them.

He was the same. No one was left in his life from before.

It took ten minutes until he saw a Porter to his right turn clamps facing the cockpit. He waved to them and saw a silhouette wave back. He felt the ship jerk slightly and noticed they were moving. Once in the clear he powered on communications. "Thanks for the lift," he said.

"Not a problem. Not much a salvager can do against fighters. Makes us feel a little useless."

"Right now, I know the feeling." They had a laugh at that. He checked how the fight was going. They had the upper hand now; there were far fewer enemy ships than friendlies. The carrier now showed itself on the scanners and it was huge. They'd nicknamed it Rancor after an extinct beast of unimaginable strength and hideous appearance that lived in caves near mountain ranges.

"Isel," he said over comms.

"Yeah?" she responded after short delay.

"Status update."

"Only cleanup left here," she said. "Intel shows we have a few ion frigates ready to go and are bearing down on the enemy carrier. Four salvagers are coming up the rear to capture its escorts and disable them."

"Smart plan," he said wondering if Jay was among them.

"See you soon." The porter was making its docking approach on the Mothership as she said this.

He was part of his life from before, but they'd gone years without knowing one another. He decided he'd settle their old dispute and try and get back to how things were between them before. He barely remembered what it was he got angry about.

Once safely on the bay floor he was taken aback by the damage. The hull split every couple feet and the back end was a mess of charred wiring and melted or warped steel. "How am I alive?" he said to himself. Looking down the hangar towards frigate construction, he saw another Matriarch nearing completion and a familiar face among those standing off to the side. He disengaged the magnetism on his boots and floated over to the group standing nearby awaiting their new ship.

"John! I imagine this one's yours?"

"Right you are," he said. "I call her the Ifriit-Gar, after two greats of the Nabaal."

"Aye, heard stories of both. I'll be seeing you out on the battlefield, then."

"Give my regards to the others, will you? I'll be launching on her as soon as she's done, probably won't see them for a long time. Support frigates can go the longest without resupply, at least three months. Five if we stretch it out with rationing."

"Will do," he said. They shook hands, but before they could continue their conversation, the PA system turned on.

"There are several Turanic Raider capital ships emerging from hyperspace around the Mothership," Fleet Intelligence said. A screen nearby displayed them on a sensors manager. Six more ships like the ones escorting the Raider carrier.

"Looks like they're not done yet," he said. His ship was a smouldering wreckage off in a corner of the hangar, its fate to be decided on when there was time to do so. "I would love to see you off, but as my ship is trashed, I'm headed up to Strike Command to help out however I can from there." He nodded, and Mark jogged over to the nearest elevator and changed out of his flight suit, leaving it in a bin to be washed and delivered to him later.

Luckily, everyone was busy frantically running about to get where they needed to be and didn't notice the disheveled pilot in civilian clothing making his way to the bridge as fast he could. It took about fifteen minutes total from the hangar to Strike Command despite distance travelled being something like a few hundred meters. Elevator stops, lines of confused people frightened by Intel's announcement, random disorder and chaos, the list went on. He glanced at a few screens on his way and they depicted the enemy ships firing blue beams into Mothership's side, it must be that ion cannon technology the Bentusi gave them, but he wasn't too knowledgeable in any of that.

He saluted the man at the door to the command centre and stepped into the red backlit cavern with a waist-height sensors manager holotable at its centre. Leonard was at the table with a handful of others thinking up battle strategies smoking a cigar to help concentrate.

"Red Leader on deck," he alerted stepping towards the table when Leonard nodded to him.

"Saw you get busted up out there, sure you should be running around this soon?"

"I'm fine, I'd rather make myself useful to those who still have ships that'll move."

"That bad, huh?"

"Ships that'll move without exploding, anyway. What's going on, anyhow?"

"See for yourself, enemy ion array frigates came out of hyperspace right on us to our aft, port, and starboard. Only one ship on the two sides so we're sending in Porters to catch them before they do too much damage. We're recalling the support frigates and repair 'vettes to mitigate the damage while we figure out what to do about those aft three. It seems their beams are focused using the panel arrays instead of how the Bentusi tech describes, meaning if we disable the arrays somehow they won't do as much damage. We turned around our Firelances—ion frigates—on a closing vector with those since they're closest. We'd recall the assault frigates too but they're busy putting a beating on that swarm of strike craft. I'd rather not leave our pilots out to hang, I feel guilty as it is recalling the Matriarch out there. Damn this."

"I assume we don't have enough Porters to go grab the remaining three?"

"Nah, only got nine so far. Four are moving in to take out the carrier's guards and one is already most of the way picking up a round of ejected. Even if we did manage to quickly capture the two frigates near us there'd still be one able to lance off the Porters as they brought them in."

He sat on that thought, watching the battle unfold in front of him. "Those panels, they're reflective? How are they working, exactly?"

"Shit if I know," he said.

"Well, if the reason they're folded in to begin with is to protect the inner surface, say we send a squad over to pot shot the hell out of the panels, too maneuverable for them to lock on."

"Think you're onto something with that one, if that's really how they work."

"Patch me to my squad, They're docked with the Matriarch right now and closest to get the job done. Someone off to his right handed him a headset.

"Red Leader joining from Strike Command. We have a vandalism job for you Red Two, if you're interested that is." He heard a few snickers behind him at that.

"Oh boy, is it my birthday? What's the target?" Isel said.

"The three far frigates currently giving our rear a pounding. It's a guess, but I think if you rain some hail on those panels it should cut their firepower."

"Got it, coach. We're nearly done here, but either way we're being towed along. Is the damage that bad?"

"It's pretty bad, yeah. Ripped holes through the outer hull layers, ignited some of the hydrogen RU stores. We've put a nice note in for the Somtaaw to move that shit where it won't explode from now on but it's mostly some lucky aiming on their part.

"Yeah, that's pretty bad."

"She wasn't designed against weapons of this class."

"Fair point. Alright, gas tanks full, Red Squad follow me!"

He handed the headset back to whoever gave it to him, looked down to the table and saw the four fighters leave the dock and speed straight for the enemy frigates.

"She's a fine pilot, that one." A compliment from the Strike Commander carried weight. "She'll be promoted along with you and a handful of others for their service in these past days." He'd heard rumours of rank promotions to be announced so it didn't come as a surprise to him to hear it. His attention was mainly focused on his squadron.

"Cross your fingers that I'm right," he said. A few silent seconds went by, Leo shifted to the main battle now being won as the Rancor's escorts were captured and in tow. One of the Porters was lanced off by the carrier's ion cannons, but the salvager who was picking up pilots got the last one and moved in to grab hold. He worried it was Jay's until he heard him over the chatter to his left. He was capturing the frigate on Mothership's starboard.

"Red Squad reporting completion of task," someone said.

"And?" Leonard asked.

A pause.

"Enemy ion weapons at sixty percent previous damage output."

Leonard gives him a wink, he'll be the talk of many after that fluke of an idea.

"Enemy carrier baring down on Mothership, frontal ions pointed at the bridge. Firing range in one minute."

"Keep Firelances headed to their current targets, order all assault frigates and corvettes to ignore the fighters and open fire on that carrier! Tell our fighters out there to clean up and come on home."

"Aye, sir!"

The room continued to move around him, his task done. He was now merely an observer to how the end of the fight will play out. As the enemy carrier opened fire with its ion cannons, a captured enemy frigate left the hangar bay and extended its foils and take aim on its former flagship.


	19. Rancor

ISABELLA

She was surprised Mark's idea worked. Even after their squad poked dozens of holes shattering the reflective coating on the panels, the ships kept firing. The drop in the enemy's firepower bought enough time for the allied ion frigates to catch up. New orders were to drop everything and fire on the Rancor, as they were calling it.

"We'll keep the enemies off the Hammers and frigates. Make a pass for the fighters firing on the pursuing assault frigates to give them some space," she said. She was joined by Green Squad again and formed a Claw formation before beginning the run. The Bandits weren't even paying attention to them anymore, and aimlessly fired away on the assault frigates, which took them out one by one with ease. It seemed their focus was aimed at protecting the carrier and all but ignored their own vessels.

As the Kuudark assault frigates took the first plasma shots at the Rancor, it launched a last swarm of fighters. They fired away at the enemy. One of the captured Taiidan frigates went critical and exploded. The heavy corvettes swept these new threats off the field with ease. All the while, the remaining friendly interceptors joined a second claw formation and they too made the final passes at the enemy strike craft, until all were destroyed.

The ion array frigates that were captured one by one launched from the Mothership, crewed anew, and fired on the carrier as it in turn opened fire on the bridge section. The colony ship was not designed for warfare, and she knew there would be severe damages due to the battle.

Suddenly, the carrier swerved around and full thrust away. New orders, destroy the carrier before it enters hyperspace. All ships opened fire on the carrier. fighters, corvettes, frigates, even the light corvettes and scouts had come to offer their guns. They must not allow them to escape, or they could report on the Mothership fleet's strength to the Taiidan Empire.

"All ships, focus fire on the carrier's engines, let's see if we can slow them down," she said. The captured ion array frigates were still making their way into firing range. The carrier's speed rivalled that of the frigates. One by one the friendlies fired until finally one engine exploded. "We got 'em!"

Once the ion frigates were in range, they too opened fire on the carrier's engines. In short order, the ship became immobilized suffering heavy damage. In a last ditch effort, or perhaps to evacuate the crew, a swarm of fighters and corvettes launched from the carrier.

Fleet command gave new orders to the strike craft, return to dock. A squadron of salvage corvettes launched from the Mothership to collect the remaining stragglers. As she pulled off her attack, she witnessed the end of this pirate raid. The Rancor fired one last time taking out a captured frigate, and was doomed to a cascade of explosions.

"Target eliminated, we're coming back."

As she waited in docking queue, she saw a salvager approach carrying a pirate corvette. She was sure they would gather some information from the Turanic Raiders about the Taiidan's intentions. All she knew is that the Kushan violated a treaty signed before history itself began on Kharak. The discovery of the guidestone set them on a path that the Gaalsien warn them about, but none would believe. Their reach for the stars ended in their planet burned and a lone fleet stuck wandering the galaxy. It was all a lot to take in. They were truly on their own in the vast expanse.

Upon her approach, she saw a group of officers apprehending the raiders. They appeared similar to them, but gaunt and slim. Taller than average as well, with greyed skin. Almost Kushan in appearance, but not quite.

Once her interceptor was in the racks, she met up with Mark who waited patiently on the hangar deck. "We did well out there," he said.

"You think? I think we're just lucky these pirates aren't the best shot."

"Says the one who almost got shot down, you worried me for a second there."

"Strike Command has something to tell you once you finish your mission report," he said. "I've gotten started on mine already."

"What's that?"

"Welcome to rank seven," he said to her utter surprise.

"You're kidding!"

"They're promoting a handful of us because we kept our cool out there fighting off alien invaders. They also asked me to train new pilots, I could use an assistant." She nodded.

"All fighter pilots, report to briefing room seven," someone said over the PA.

"I guess that's our call," Eric said joining them.

"Hey, you did well out there," she said. "For a first timer, anyway."

"It was... exhilarating. Hard to describe."

"Just means you're one of us danger junkies is all," she replied.

On their elevator ride up to the briefing room, they caught a news broadcast from the capital ship hangar. "The ship you see behind me is a captured Dagger-class ion array frigate. We just received word that the last of these vessels has been neutralized by our Porter salvage corvettes and is waiting to be boarded. Mothership has suffered heavy damage in the fight, but nothing critical was lost and the cryotrays are safe. We will remain in the system for another shift to gather resources before making the jump to hyperspace. Our interrogation teams have learned the location of the Taiidan carrier fleet, and we will be preparing for an ambush attack on them once and for all. For all of Kharak. This is Graal Manaan signing off."

"Are we really ready to face the Empire?" She said.

Mark answered. "They don't know we're coming. We have the element of surprise on our side. Since we're all here, I should mention that John has been placed in command of our second support frigate and has already departed. He said to wish everyone well."

"We'll see him out there on the battlefield, I'm sure. We all have a job to do," Eric said.

The elevator stopped. They made their way to the briefing room and joined the other fighter pilots, taking a seat together as a squad.

Leonard Nabaal spoke first. "I would like to congratulate all of you for a successful mission. We've had our fair share of losses out there, but these are dire times and it is to be expected. Three interceptor squadrons of five managed to take down the pirate forces, but the thinking is this will not be enough to go against the Taiidan. This is why I would like the remainder of you to bring on new pilots. I will be asking for two of you to volunteer for training purposes. I know not a lot of you have the experience, but these times are dire. The twelve of you left are the only pilots we have available. We have a group of ten exiting cryogenic sleep as we speak to help boost our numbers, but as you all know, this expedition was never meant to be one of combat. As such, we are not prepared for the task at hand. In order to get where we need to be, I need two of you to train these ten sleepers. They have only basic flight experience, and it will be a challenge. Any takers?"

Mark raised his hand. "My wingmen and I can train the newbies," he said. "Eric here experienced his first combat, so we're already kind of doing trial by fire, but it would be wise to give some pointers ahead of time. What's our departure time?"

"Six hours, approximately."

"Not good," he said. "I would have liked to train some pilots in their ships outside the Mothership."

"You'll just have to do what you can. We have been given permission to use the capital ship hangar for flight tests, but that's the best I can do."

"Not a lot of space to work with, but it'll do," he said.

"Pardon me, but you expect us to fly around inside the ship?" She said.

"The capital ship hangar is just over five hundred meters tall and little over half that wide. It's enough space," Leonard said.

"Not much, but it'll do."

"How long do we have before our next mission?" She asked.

"Two days in hyperspace."

"Two days! And we're to train two whole new squads in that time?" She exclaimed.

"That is correct. I know it's not a lot of time, but I have faith. Our research division is preparing a new fighter based on the Kuudark plasma weaponry. These new pilots will be destined for the attack bomber."

"So no need to train them at target practice, gotcha."

"A cursory glance at the weapons systems for sure, and target drones will be provided, but no fancy maneuvers and anti-strike protocols will be necessary. Just the basics of working the fighter will suffice. I would also like to say, each of you has been promoted a rank for your efforts."

"This means I'm rank eight?" Reina Manaan said.

"You and Mark Soban are indeed now rank eight. Congratulations on your achievements. I would like your combat reports in by the end of the day if possible. Meeting adjourned."

"Two days, huh? Think we'll be able to get them ready in time?" She asked.

"We'll find out soon enough," Mark said.

"I'll catch you guys later," Eric said. "I have plenty of writing to do already, and now I have to figure out how to write up a combat report."

"Roger that," she said.

Mark and her made their way back to the barracks. Once alone, she began to tear up.

"What's this about?" He asked.

"Oh, just stress."

"But the battle's over."

"The battle's over when we reach Hiigara, my friend. Now sit down so I have someone to lean on," she ordered.

He did, and began rubbing her back. "We all feel it," he said. "Some of us just hide it better." She kissed his cheek and hugged him back.

"What'll we do?" She said.

"Survive. It's all we can do."


	20. On The Edge

TRISTEN

She woke up in her bed like usual. She took a shower, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall. The other pilots gave her looks of uncertainty as she sat with them. "Morning," she said. None answered her, instead they stayed silent, judging her. "Oh come on, I freak out once and I'm a pariah?"

"It's not that," one said. "You're our boss now."

"Am not," she said.

"Well technically you are," Jake said sitting beside her.

"Like hell, I just assign the squads, and evaluate mission reports, and... well then. I guess I might as well be the boss."

"You're the boss," someone said to a chuckle.

There was a loud groan in the hull. "I guess that means we're out of hyperspace." She stood up, only half done her meal, and took the plastic plate of food with her.

"Not hungry?" Jake asked.

"Might as well save it for lunch, our rations are running low as it is."

"Care to meet me for a run?" He asked.

"Not today, I've got a lot of paperwork to get through."

"No problem boss,"

"Oh, stop it. Besides, if we're playing that game I've been your boss for years as your squad leader."

"Did you hear the latest news about our next destination?" Another pilot asked.

"No, I haven't. What's new?"

"We're headed for a spaceport in a couple days apparently. They want to debrief us about LM-27 and what went down there."

"I see," she said. She wondered what would be her fate. Would she be placed on leave, or would she be allowed to remain?

"Better get your mission reports written up, just keep 'em brief and to the point, I don't wanna be stuck reading them forever."

"Sure thing," Jake said. She took her leave after that.

She wandered down the halls for a couple minutes until she was alone. Once no one else was in sight, she removed the wall panel and entered the maintenance corridor. She found the old man in the same spot he always was.

"Brought you some breakfast," she said. He groaned himself awake, blinked twice, and took the food.

"It's blurry, but I think I'm starting to see again," he said.

"Not much to see."

"I can see your face," he said. "I knew it, you are a pretty one."

"Oh, hush. I'm probably half your age, old man."

"Probably my son's age, no doubt. Maybe you'll meet someday."

"Not likely," she started. "In a couple days we're headed for a station outpost and I'll likely be reprimanded for not following orders. They could send me home for insubordination."

"I feel as though you've served your punishment for that, otherwise they'd keep you locked up. But what do I know?"

"Maybe you're right, I could be overthinking it. But something is unsettling about it. The news is claiming your planet was not populated when it was bombed, I'm wondering if they're going to try and keep us quiet about it."

"You mentioned there was a rebellion yes? Perhaps you should join them."

"Not a chance, I already worry too much about my family as it is. To have the Empire threaten them once I defect? No way."

"Ah, so you're not alone in this world after all."

"No, it just feels that way most of the time over in this corner of the galaxy."

"Tell me about them."

"I have a brother, he was too young to know much about the world when I left. I don't even know what he looks like now, it's been so long. My parents work government appointed jobs just like anyone else. There's not much to tell, really."

"So you don't keep in contact?"

"It's hard. There's rules about how frequently you can contact your family, and I just haven't mustered up the courage to call them. We didn't exactly leave things on a good note."

"Oh?"

"It was military service or juvenile detention for me when I left. Let's just say I had a habit of misbehaving."

"My son too, let me tell you. Kid had a real problem following orders. But look at him now, ace pilot much like yourself."

"I hate to run on you, but I have a lot of work on my plate. I'll see you around."

"I'd like you to reconnect with your family. After all, family is all we have in the end."

And with that, she took her leave. It was still early morning. She could have gone for a run with Jake if she wanted to, but her mind was distracted from the present. Something about what the old man said bothered her. He was right about the importance of family, yet here she was shaking unable to open a call to them.

She worried after so many years they would not want to talk to her. They disapproved of her going into military service, but it was the only way she had to progress in society after the incident at the refinery with her cousin Jarred. "What's wrong with me? They're my parents! It's fine."

She only had to press the button. But would she be able to, she thought?

"Here goes nothing," she said pressing the button.

The call rang. Then again, and again. It rang for a good twenty seconds before someone came to answer. "Yes? Who is it, do you know what hour it is?"

"I'm afraid not," she said. "Dad?"

"Wait, who is this?"

"It's Tristen."

"Is that really you? I hardly recognized you! Let me wake your mother—

"No, that's alright. I need to talk to someone, but I have no one to talk to. This line is secured."

"Are you in trouble dear?"

"No, not exactly. I'm sure you've heard of the Atmospheric Deprivation Device test that happened around LM-27?"

"I am,"

"Well, that was us. Dad, I— I can't. All those people! I couldn't do it."

"Slow down, what do you mean?"

"The planet wasn't void of life like they claim. We destroyed an entire civilization and now they want to keep us quiet. Tell no one I called you, I just—

She began to tear up, sobbing would follow.

"I see," he said. "The Empire made you attack the innocent. This is why we worried for you."

"I have been reprimanded for disobeying orders to fire. There's a chance I will be heading home soon."

"Do you feel in danger?"

"No, not quite. Maybe? I don't know."

"Let your worries pass, there's no use worrying about things yet to happen."

She nodded. "How's Caleb?"

"Doing about as well as can be expected. He's a rebellious one much like you."

"I shouldn't be calling you, someone might notice. Once we reach the station I will call again."

"Tristen."

"Yeah?"

"You did the right thing. I'm sure of that."

"Thanks," she said before ending the call.

She placed her face in her pillow and screamed at the top of her lungs until tired out. Her nerves were on edge, and she now worried calling her family would put them in danger. She knew better than to trust the security of the call but hoped no one would be able to listen in.

She stood up, took a deep breath, then sat down at her desk with the tablet. Stress or not, she had work to do.


	21. Riot

MARK

He and Isabella slept together again the last night. Neither wanted to be alone. "We're gonna need to figure out what we're doing," he said.

"Don't worry Mark, I think we're on the same page here."

"You just like my company," he said.

"Exactly, now let's get down to the hangar shall we?" She said putting on her pants.

As neither of them were hungry, they skipped breakfast and went down to the hangar bay. On the elevator ride down, they watched off in the distance as a Firelance-class ion frigate was under construction. Off to the aft section of the deck sat his interceptor. Helena Paktu, the deck chief, waved them over.

"So what's the status of my ship doc, will she live?" He asked.

"Unfortunately, there's hairline fractures all along the chassis. It's a miracle it held together, actually. You're lucky to be alive young man," she said. "But as for your mark five, it's due to be scrapped for resources. You'll get a new fighter by the afternoon, in queue right before the ten bombers I have on order."

"Speaking of, what's the stats on that? I'm curious," Isel said.

"Take a look." She handed her the tablet. "It's basically a plasma gun with engines and a cockpit."

"I like the orange along the midsection."

"So about that fighter," he said. "Any chance I can get it in traditional Sobani colours?"

"A red interceptor for red leader? I don't see why not," she said. "I find the standard grey a little bland myself."

"Wait, we can get them painted?"

"We can make exceptions for squad leaders, but regularly we wouldn't. For instance, we wouldn't paint an entire frigate on personal whim. But a fighter, why not? Green leader asked me for the same thing yesterday."

"I see," she said. "Guess I need to become a squad leader then!"

"In due time," Mark said. "First we need to see if you're up for this training regiment.

"Right, we have that to do today."

"I think all we're doing is getting them into the ships and doing laps around the hangar bay. I can't see us squeezing in anything more than that today considering they'll all have to go one at a time."

"So the basics then?"

"Apparently they have flight experience."

"Military?"

"Commercial."

"Out of six hundred thousand people they couldn't scrounge any military pilots? Oh boy aren't we out of our depth."

"Yes, yes we are. But not to worry, It's only their lives we're responsible for." He said patting her on the back. "Might as well head over," he said.

"They're waiting on us? Why did we take this detour then," she said.

"I figured I'd give these new pilots a chance to get to know one another without our presence. We're asking a lot of them. Can you imagine, waking up and finding out all that's gone on over the last short while?"

"I can understand that, I'm barely keeping it together myself. You seem to be holding up alright though," she said.

"We've all suffered our fair share of losses over the last while. I'm trying to compartmentalize it for later when I have time to worry. Right now, all I want to do is ensure we make our way across the galaxy with as few losses as possible. Which means we have a responsibility to these pilots to give them what they need to succeed." They walked the platform between the two hangars until they reached the group of ten men and women standing by a scout fighter.

"Good morning," he said. "I know you all probably have some questions. I ask that you hold off on them until we can get through the basics."

"And what does the basics entail?" One of them asked.

"One by one my partner and I will familiarize you with the ship controls. If you feel confident enough, you'll get to take it for a spin around the hangar. All of you need to be ready by the end of day tomorrow to join us on the front lines. I know it's a lot to ask of you, but we're in desperate times."

"So we heard." He took a look around at their faces. All somber and dwelling on what they had only recently been made aware of.

"We're alone out here," he said. "We have only each other for support, no one's coming to save us. I've been told you all have flight experience to some degree or another. Trust me, a fighter isn't much different from a standard airship. You'll find many of the controls the same. So who's up first?"

One by one he and Isabella took turns sitting them down in the cockpit to go over the controls and screens, until they were confident they could repeat back what everything was for. He did not want to let anyone pilot the ship until he went though everyone. Some had more experience than others. Only one person had experience on a fighter-style ship, however. Most were cargo pilots, in his opinion more suited to piloting a corvette than a fighter, but they would have to do.

"Reece Kaalel, you're up first." He was likely who he would choose as a squad leader, having flown reconnaissance fighters across the dune seas for a Manaani caravan before electing to join the Mothership voyage.

"Roger that sir," he said stepping up the ladder into the scout. The ship lifted to a hover, and he brought it out into the capital hangar. He flew a couple laps around, then came back to land. "Flies easy enough, I'm not quite used to the cockpit being so off-centre, but I can habituate to it over time."

"Next up?" And so the day went on. By the time they finished, everyone had a chance to fly the fighter around the hangar. It was a productive first step but he was unsure of their readiness. He would simply have to have faith.

After he had dismissed them for the day, he and Isabella went to meet up with Jay, who was on the lower decks doing some peacekeeping. On the newscast, he saw that there were riots erupting all across the Mothership. They woke a hundred officers from cryosleep to deal with the increased violence and panic.

The first instance they ran into was a group of a dozen or so arguing that they should drop out of hyperspace and become a spacefaring civilization far away from any Taiidan threat, and that us going directly do them was a danger we could not afford to risk.

"We're the last of our entire race!" One shouted. "We should hide!"

"No, we can fight back!" Another shouted from the other side. "Our goal is to reach Hiigara, we can't stop here!"

"Hiigara is a false promise that we can't hope to reach!"

The bickering continued, and they kept on walking. The further down the levels they went, the more violent it became until they spotted Jasiid Nabaal struggling with a woman who was clearly enraged over something or other. Once he spotted them, he left the woman to her business.

"What's that all about?" Isabella asked.

"They think we're doomed," he said. "I'm trying to argue we should press on, but they won't have it."

"Are there any officers on this level?"

"We don't have enough to deal with the problem. Even the ones we woke up already have their hands full." A few moments passed as they took in the crowd, then they heard a gunshot and a scream, an officer had been shot. The riot grew out of control after that. There were a group of officers heading their way, but hundreds of protesters in between. They were overwhelmed.

The newscast reported several explosions near key resource stores and they blamed a group of Gaalsien terrorists who had stowed away on the ship. The leader of the group was apprehended, but had words. "This journey is madness! My people warned of the dangers of hyperspace, no one listened! We are all slaves to the whims of Sajuuk." His thoughts turned to Eric. He wondered how he would react to such a statement and to these riots. But his attention was immediately drawn to the man with the gun in his hand.

"Y-you! You're the one. You bring these people hope. Why? This journey is hopeless! The Taiidan destroyed all of Kharak! How do you expect us to defeat them?"

Mark saw his hand trembling and made a gamble and stood tall in front of the shooter. "Because we carry with us the strength of all of Kharak. They destroyed our home and we will get our revenge. The strength of our fleet is not in our numbers but in our will to fight. We have the enemy on the run, and the element of surprise. We want to destroy them, and we will. They aren't expecting any survivors, don't you get it?" But the man would not listen.

"You're wrong!" He stepped forward, but the man stepped back. "It's all just hopeful lies!" He heard the shot fire, but it did not register until he felt a sharp pain in his chest. The man vanished into the crowd, and the room around him began to spin. He looked down at his white shirt and saw red seeping through. He fell to his knees gasping for breath. The last thing he remembered was Isabella screaming for help and the officers opening non-lethal fire into the crowd.

He woke in the hospital. He tried to move, but the sharp pain in his chest kept him in place. He looked to his side and saw Isabella sleeping in the chair next to his bed. He wondered how long she had been there, hopefully not the entire night. He was playing with the medical sensors taped to his chest when the doctor walked in.

"Aren't you supposed to be dying?" He asked. Mark felt horrified that someone would ask that, and didn't appreciate the joke.

"No! Why would I be dying?" He shouted waking the sleeper to his right.

"Take your time," he said. "You should be able to move by the time we're out of hyperspace, but I recommend you stay off duty for a week to heal. There is only so much medical science can do."

"Like hell," he said tearing the sensors off and raising to a sitting position.

"You shouldn't be moving yet, you'll tear the stitches."

A nurse began walking over with a long needle. "Hey, what do you think you're about to do, lady? That's not going anywhere near me," he said.

"It's a sedative," she said confused.

"I don't care what it is, leave it out of me."

"You need to rest, Soban. If you die, how am I going to explain that to all the pilots waiting on your recovery?"

It was Isabella who spoke next, or rather, she smacked him across the face then spoke. "Lay your behind back in that bed! You've just been shot, Mark. Please, just rest. I'll take care of the training. It's not a big deal, really. Just stay put and don't go anywhere."

"How long until we exit hyperspace?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I need to get ready," he said trying to stand.

"You can't go into battle like this, you need to stay in bed!" Isabella tried arguing, but he would not listen.

"You're joking, right? I feel mostly fine," he said taking a step.

"No, I'm not! Sit your ass back down before I force you down."

"You really think I'm going to miss out on the battle of a lifetime? There's too much at stake to be worried about stupid nonsense like this!" He was now shouting her down. "I am Sobani, we fight until the bitter end and then we die fighting. This sidetrack can't and won't stop me," he said moving for the door.

"You're too weak right now," the nurse argued.

"You're wrong, I'm fine, see?" He raised his arms and ignored the pain. He gave a glare at the nurse who backed off with her needle and made a move for the door.

Isabella grabbed his arm and forced him to the ground.

"Get off."

"No," she said.

"Now, or I have you reprimanded for assaulting a superior."

"Like they'll listen. Look at you, Mark. What are you trying to prove?"

He didn't have an answer, and he was too weak to remove her. "Don't make me be the one to stick you with a needle. Because I will, and I won't be gentle about it."


	22. The Unimaginable Sin

ERIC

Two days had passed. In that time, he got to writing. The word Taiidan was familiar to him but until that day he could not place it. It came from an old text, the origin myths of their people. The test was called The Unimaginable Sin, and was quite relevant as of late. He knew almost the whole book by heart. Less and less fictional as the days passed by. The metal boxed floating through the void were obviously spaceships, and the word Taiidan appeared in the text as the name of the lost world, one destroyed by their ancestors. The exile was penance for this crime. The book spoke of Khar Halla, the first world. Clearly meant to represent Hiigara. The sin committed was now done twice over with the destruction of Kharak, and thus in his opinion, their penance was paid. A world for a world. Only Sajuuk could be the judge of them now.

He wrote down what he felt was important for the people of the Mothership to know. The story of Taiidan was partly, he felt, necessary for them to understand fully the state of the universe they were now part of. It rained fire from the skies and explosions on the land, and the air sucked away by the hands of our ancestors. It was a fiction, but one all too real now. He felt the horror once felt by the Taiidan, and because he and the exiles suffered the same fate, could understand their banishment. But the sins of their forefathers were not their sins, and if Sajuuk were truly there to punish them, none would have escaped Kharak alive. He wrote down next a passage that was stuck in his memory:

The people concealed their power inside a floating prison, taking it with them wherever they go. Memories of home, and the power to traverse the galaxy in the blink of an eye. The Taiidan, angered by not gaining said power, tore apart their prisons in search of what they could not find. The power was said to be lost to the Angelmoon, and they gave up their pursuit. After long, the Taiidan forgot them entirely, and the eyes on their prisons died out long ago.

The power source spoken of was clearly the Mothership's hyperdrive, the hyperspace core. The technology they were forbidden to use over four thousand years ago. The Taiidan must have torn apart some of the prison ships searching for it, but never found it and moved on to elsewhere, to the hallowed Angelmoon of their homeworld.

These texts had long been considered little more than Gaalsien propaganda, the Sjet unable to verify the origins. The Gaalsien knew much that was lost to history, and he would make it his duty to inform. From memory alone there was much to tell.

He heard a bang on his door and got up to answer. It was Isabella Manaan. "Hello?" He said.

"I need your help," she said. "Mark's been shot and is recovering. We got into it with some rioters on the lower decks. I have to train the bomber pilots at target practice and need an extra pair of eyes. Can you help me?"

"I uh, was in the middle of something, but sure I'll join you," he said.

"Great! Meet me in the hangar's central platform as soon as you can," she said and turned to walk away.

"Hey, is Mark alright?"

"He'll be fine, he's just stupid."

Stupid? He wondered what she meant. He hit save on his computer and headed after her. "Hey! Wait up!" He shouted. "So we never actually got properly introduced," he said.

"There's not much to tell, to be honest. My mother worked in hydroponics, and my father, well. He wasn't exactly close. Thirteenth daughter of the clan's leader doesn't get you very far."

"Which tribe do you hail from, north or south?"

"A northern convoy using a refurbished Gaalsien command carrier, spent most of my life on the move."

"A Corvaal-class? I bet you've got stories to tell. If ever you want them written down let me know."

"You're a writer, yeah?"

"I try to be anyway, I'm working on something. Old stories of my clan from Saju-Ka's libraries. Sadly I haven't brought them with me, so I'm recreating them based on memory."

"I see," she said. "Just don't inspire terrorist cells and we'll be alright you and I," she said.

"I'd be offended if I didn't agree with you," he said. "The terrorist cells onboard this ship are zealots who can't see beyond the past. I look to the future instead, it's far more freeing."

"I like to live in the moment, there's no telling what could happen and why waste your current self worrying about what may or may not come to be?"

"You have a point there, but without hope for the future how do we move each other forward?"

"Together," she said.

"We're quite divided already. The people have no hope," he said referring to the ongoing riots.

"Then let's give them something to hope for," she said calling the elevator. "First step of that includes training these pilots. If we can get the civilians to work out, I don't see why we couldn't do the same with more of the sleepers."

"I seem to be doing okay as far as piloting goes, what do you think?"

"Right, you're technically a civvy too, I forgot."

"I don't think there's a difference anymore, civvy, military, we're all just kushan to the enemy."

"Something to keep in mind, I guess."

The door of the elevator opened up onto the hangar deck, and the group of ten was waiting for them.

"Sorry we're late, we got held up. Now if you'll line up beside the scout, we can get started. We have a few target drones that'll be deployed into the hangar bay, and it'll be your jobs to destroy them. One at a time, though. I know it is not ideal, but we're pressed for time now."

"What happened to Mark Soban?" One of the pilots asked.

"He's currently recovering from a gunshot wound. Any other questions before we get started?"

"Yeah, what's he doing here? He's one of them!" Another pilot said eyeing Eric with suspicion.

"That's none of your concern, he's here to help me help you all. If you don't like working with other Kiith, you know where the door is."

He watched attentively as she barked orders to the pilots, and within no time at all, the first one was inside the scout preparing their attack run. He saw the target drone, and watched as the pilot circled around the hangar and took aim. He missed, but got it on the next pass.

It didn't appear as though she needed his help, but perhaps there was something else to it. An insecurity, perhaps. He wouldn't dare bring it up, but he was mostly a bystander watching as the pilots one by one engaged the target drones in the hangar. This went on for a couple hours until everyone had a chance to go.

"Do you all feel ready to fight alongside us?" She asked.

"Not really," one responded.

"Good, because you'll never be ready. Not really, anyway. No one can prepare you for combat, it's just something you have to get through once you're in it."

"And if we fail?"

"Then you die heroes. Twelve interceptors, ten bombers, four light corvettes, six heavy corvettes, two support frigates, five assault frigates, and four ion cannon frigates along with some captured vessels. This is all that remains of our people. I'll tell you the truth, we don't know what we're walking into. But we think their fleet is weakened from the atrocities of Kharak. Your group will remain docked until called upon. Just take your shots and head home. That's all we can really ask of you. Dismissed."

"Well said," Eric commented to her alone.

"It's just honesty," she said. "Something these people deserve." He pondered that for a second. "I could use a drink."

"Are you even old enough?"

"No, but that's never stopped me. Come on, I have some in my room."


End file.
